


There Will Come Soft Rains

by Jellyfax



Series: By The Waters Of Babylon [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Older Merlin, Psychosis, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, Younger Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-02-16 18:44:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2280633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jellyfax/pseuds/Jellyfax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Arthur.</i>
</p><p>It whispered his name so that he wouldn’t forget it.</p><p>
  <i>Arthur.</i>
</p><p>He only noticed that any time had passed at all when he felt a sharp pain in his chest, the warmth ebbed away and was replaced by a painful, numbing cold. There were voices whispering to him, wisps of light dancing just out of sight. Tantalisingly close, drawing him nearer, beckoning him towards something, something cold and bright. It was icy and sharp and when the sensation reached his chest he gasped, gulping in cold air. </p><p>He screamed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as a lot of you know, after the finale I starting writing a very cathartic Merthur fic to fix the heartbreak that was the end of season 5 ... Always Gold ... and while it was fluffy and really did help with the pain, it didn't have much structure and in the end I just stopped writing. Fortunately I had a lot of interest in it, and a lot of support, and since it had a little potential I decided to strip it down and start again. While this doesn't follow the same storyline at all there will be certain bits and pieces that feel familiar, and I hope that if you enjoyed the last one, you'll enjoy this too.
> 
> First of all I'd like to thank the people who put up with me whining about this fic, to Anna, Maroussia and Marilia for reading the many, many drafts that I have sent them over the past few months, and to Fern and Emily for keeping me sane when my writing just wasn't happening!
> 
> This is the first of a series, but it can be read on its own, just as the sequel can be read on its own as well (but I have written them together). I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

\--- -- . / ... --- ..-. - / .-. .- .. -. ... / .- -. -.. / - .... . / ... -- . .-.. .-.. / --- ..-. / - .... . / --. .-. --- ..- -. -..

  
  


Arthur had never given much thought to death, or what came afterwards. At least, not his own death. As a child he had often wondered if his mother had died and gone to a better place, one where she could look down on him and love him from afar. He hoped that place was sunny.

  
  


He had never thought about what it would be like to feel your own life slip away. In reality it was as easy as falling asleep. It was cold at first, the darkness encroaching on the peripheries of his vision, but as the pain that had been thrumming through him ebbed away, he began to feel warm and safe. He wasn’t afraid, or angry, or sad any more. He just  _ was _ .

  
  


The last thing he remembered was the blue of Merlin’s eyes. They were bright and full of tears, and if the only thing left in the world was those eyes, Arthur didn’t think that he would complain.  
  
It was warm to begin with, and bright, and so very calm. He couldn’t tell how long it had been. It could have been hours, but at the same time it felt like no time at all. It felt like those nights he used to stay up and watch the moonlight. He would lie very still as Guinevere slept, the gentle rise and fall of her chest providing the only rhythmic noise amongst the settling of the wood and stone in the silence of the twilight hours. He would follow the path of the moon as it bathed his room with light, rays, like fingers, tracing the edges of the desks, chairs, tables, cabinets, spilling onto his bed, running along the curves of his sleeping wife, illuminating her warm, dark skin. There was something calming and steadfast about the moon, ever changing and yet always the same. It was just about the only thing in his life that he could be truly certain of; the moon in all its pale splendour.

  
  


The more time that passed, the more he forgot about the moon, and the shape of his wife’s lips, the smell of the horses, and the tang of blood on his tongue when his sparring partner got the better of him. Slowly but surely his existence began to wane. Yet, there was something there, something he was clinging to resolutely, refusing to let it slip away like he had done so many times before. So long as he had that, he could never forget who he was. That cesious colour, starker and so much wiser than he knew before. He’d seen it in shades of joy and sorrow, pensive and carefree. There were days it was brighter than the clearest sky, others where it was a stormy tempest, dark and brimming with turbulent emotion. The colour flickered, its hues changing and shifting for an eternity. If he could just hold on to it, he could save himself.

  
  


_Arthur._

  
  


It whispered his name so that he wouldn’t forget it.

  
  


_Arthur._

  
  


He only noticed that any time had passed at all when he felt a sharp pain in his chest, the warmth ebbed away and was replaced by a painful, numbing cold. There were voices whispering to him, wisps of light dancing just out of sight. Tantalisingly close, drawing him nearer, beckoning him towards something, something cold and bright. It was icy and sharp and when the sensation reached his chest he gasped, gulping in cold air.

  
  


He screamed.

  
  


*

  
  


Merlin liked to think of himself as an albatross. He had read once, somewhere, a long time ago, that albatross mate for life. Even after years at sea they return home to be together, their black-tipped wings curling up, finally together. It didn’t matter how long it had been, they always knew each other. He wondered if the albatross, too, had to wait. Did one return before the other? Did one return just as the other left again, just missing one another and never knowing? Or did they synchronise, did nature just know? Nature always seemed to know.

  
  


He had long ago lost faith in people. Nature was the only constant. People were ever-changing, never in one frame of mind for more than a moment before they fell upon another opinion, swearing the latter had always been theirs and never the former. He understood now why Kilgharrah had grown weary of the world in the way that he had. For a time the dragon and the man had kept each other company. They had wandered the wide and lonely world together, two beings far older and wiser than they appeared. But the great serpent had grown tired, which was his right as he was a great deal older than Merlin, and the weary way he saw the world was something that Merlin had always known would become his own, in time. Dragons do not die as people and animals die. They were born of fire and stone and to them they returned, settling to petrify among the mountains, just another rock to erode away with the passing of the years. They had shared much in their time together, and it would have been a grievance to suggest that Merlin had not mourned Kilgharrah’s passing, but he had not wept as bitterly as he had done with Gaius, or Gwen, or … or Arthur. He had blessed the stone to always provide wisdom and shelter to those who needed it, as he had done in life. Then he had left, turning away from the only companion he had ever known whose life extended as his did, the one being on the Earth who Merlin had sworn he would never have to say goodbye to.

 

And so he began to lose faith in nature as well. Nature was as much in flux as Humanity, he could see that now. The seasons ever changed, the landscape ever adapted to the encroaching tide of Human ignorance and greed. There were times when Merlin wondered if he too could become stone. It would have been easier. There were days when he cursed Kilgharrah for his cowardice, for taking the easy way out. Merlin could not. He had thought of it often, dying. How easy it should have been to feel the bite of cold steel against his skin, to feel the wane of his life. Yet there was one thought, and only one, that stayed the blade, that pulled him from the edge and kept him hanging on.

  
  


_Arthur._

  
  


Merlin had worn his mother's sigil every day since he had died, pinned over his heart, his last true gift to his closest and most unlikely friend. The dragon had promised that he would return. That he was the Once and  _ Future _ King. His name had become a mantra, the word that kept the darkness at bay, the word that banished the bleak thoughts that plagued his troubled mind.

  
  


_Arthur._

  
He wasn’t sure if he would be reborn, back into the world as a new life, with all the potential that graced newborn children, or whether he would return as he had died, a king not only in name, but in spirit and experience. He watched for signs, for oncoming hardships that would beckon the Once and Future King back to the country that needed him. But it all seemed to be in vain. Plagues had ravaged the land, and the fires burned for days in the ruins of war, but still Arthur had not returned.

  
  


He had allowed his body to age finally, the years he wore on the inside finally showing on the out. He found that people were far less assuming about the solitude of an old man than a young one. They did not watch his years though, only noting that he was old and that he seemed to have been that way for as long as they could remember. As much as he resented Kilgharrah for leaving him, Merlin could not bring himself to hate him. In fact, being close to the stone brought him comfort. He wondered whether it was the enchantment that he himself had placed that made it so, or whether there was still enough of the dragon left in the stone to provide him council even after death. He would sit and talk to the stone, about the things he had seen and the people he had met. His anger and resentment faded to a numb sense of acceptance. For once, he decided to stay put. He built a cottage on the shores of a vast lake, a short walk from the dragonstone, and took the name Emrys, since Merlin had become a little conspicuous over the years. It was almost laughable to see his own legend swell and fade, the nuances becoming distorted and bastardised. So it was told that he was an old man when he came to Arthur, that his undoing had been a particularly alluring woman, and that he had been turned into a tree. In some tales Arthur had been a hunter and slayer of cat monsters, witches, giants and more, with no mention of the warlock at all. Some said that Merlin had been the sorcerer responsible for Arthur’s conception, some said that his own conception had been between a devil and a virgin. With each new instance the story of his own life became increasingly skewed, until Merlin could barely tell what was fact and what was fiction. Not that it mattered, it was all in the past, and all who remembered it were dead. All but Merlin.

  
  


Slowly but surely he began to adjust to a settled life. He wasn’t exactly happy, but there was a contentment there that he hadn’t felt for a long time. Claddgell was a quaint little place, full of green and always bustling with tourists and ramblers. It was never busy, but there was always so much life to the place. Merlin liked that, that nestled between the lakes and the mountains was a little piece of humanity that wasn’t stifled by greed or ambition. It reminded him why he hadn’t given up quite yet. His cottage was just outside of town, it was small, not much more than a glorified bungalow, but it served its purpose. There was a small kitchen and sitting room area, a bedroom, and a bathroom. It was more comfort than Merlin had known in years, and it was his and his alone. It was warm in the winter and cool in the summer, and it felt lonely, looking out across the lake, as far from the town as he could get. Despite his best interests, he still preferred the solitude. There was a garden where he liked to grow flowers and vegetables. He made a concerted effort not to take life of any kind unnecessarily, he had seen enough death to last him a thousand lifetimes, so his little garden provided more than enough to keep him comfortable. He had even planted saplings, the beginnings of a small orchard, or so he hoped. He kept bees as well, selling what honey he didn’t use, along with fresh flowers and small amounts of other produce. He didn’t often use the money he collected, not for a while at least. His magic kept the need for certain human comforts at bay, but with the turning of the years, there seemed to be more and more that people wanted and needed in life. He accepted technology with wary fascination. Electricity had taken some getting used to, but when he discovered what it was and why it did what it did, he wondered how the world had ever survived without it. It seemed so simple, and yet it had taken millennia to harness. He remembered quite fondly the first moving picture he ever went to see, a Charlie Chaplin piece about a man and a boy and an actress. It was bitter-sweet and made his heart ache when he thought about it. When the wireless radio had gone commercial he had saved up enough money to buy one, and had taken it apart to discover how it worked. He thrived on this innovation. It brought him hope. He had grown so tired of people that he had almost forgotten how incredible they could be.

  
  


So slowly but surely Merlin began to wean himself off of his solitude. Selling his honey at the market was a start. People began to notice him, remarking on how good it was to see “Old Man Emrys” out and about again. He started to frequent a local café, paying for a cup of coffee with a jar of honey, and often found himself at the local library. The library was an old brick building, far larger and grander than a village like Claddgell should have had. It was, at one point in its life, the home of an old money family, but the last of the family to pass had bequeathed the building to the council, under the strict instruction that it be kept as a sanctuary for the books already present, and any more that could be added along the way. They gave Merlin a strange sort of comfort, the smell of their old pages never failing to mellow even the darkest moods. Not to mention the fact that sorting the books into their correct places was more satisfying than he liked to admit. At first the librarians were unsure of his interference with their jobs, but after a while they warmed to him, letting him tidy and sort and lose himself in the books. They couldn’t employ him, but he was a welcome help. Merlin was fairly sure that they just considered him to be a harmless geriatric, going a little senile in his old age. He was perfectly happy to let them think that.

  
  


When he wasn’t at the library he was tending to his hives, harvesting the honey and comb as delicately as possible, so as not to disturb their occupants too much. Happy bees made better honey, and the better the honey, the happier the people were who ate it. Merlin took great pride in his little apiary, always kept clean and neat, his bees always healthy. Although lately he had been finding small sacs hanging from the underside of the hives. They were waxy and green as new leaves, adorning the little wooden houses like strange baubles. he plucked them from the hives like hanging fruit, but by the next morning they had all returned. It wasn’t long before he began to find them under the eaves of his cottage, and danglingly quaintly underneath his windowsills. They puzzled him, but his attempts to rid the house of them had so far proven futile, and nature was not his to trifle with, especially when it was being as stubborn as this. So he left them to hang there. After a while he had to admit that they added a certain greenery to the cottage that was not unpleasant. However, as the weeks went by the little sacs began to darken, leaving the house and the gardens looking grim and shadowed.

  
  


Merlin frowned, standing outside his front door. His beautiful little cottage seemed unwelcoming now with it’s dark new occupants. Fetching his step ladder he clambered up to inspect the odd little pouches. What had once been green and waxy now had a strange wet sheen, they looked glassy, dark and mottled with black and brown. As he reached out to touch the nearest one it twitched. Merlin snatched his hand away as though it had been burnt. The little sac began to shudder and writhe, pulsing and undulating until the sac began to split. Merlin gasped. The baubles were chrysalises. From the remnants of it’s cocoon, a butterfly began to emerge, its wings unfurling, sodden and heavy. As they opened Merlin could see more clearly the rivulets of black among the striking orange, and the intricate white spots adorning the dark, matte wing-tips. If he hadn’t known better he could have sworn it was a Monarch, but they weren’t native, not even in the slightest, and they definitely couldn’t migrate this far.

 

The butterfly opened its wings, then closed them again, before opening them out once more. As it did so, Merlin became aware of the low thrum that had filled the air around him. Not just one, but all of the chrysalises had begun to burst open, their brightly coloured occupants shaking their wings free. Stepping down carefully he backed away, drinking in the sight before him. Hundreds upon hundreds of butterflies had been unfurling, shimmering and shaking out their new wings until they were stiff as full sails. Suddenly they took flight, amassing in a cloud of jacinth wings. They swirled and danced around him and it took Merlin’s breath away. He could feel the gentle brush of their silken pennons as they rushed skywards, dispersing up into the bright Autumn blue.

  
Something felt different. He felt laughter bubble up from inside of him. The low, dull pain in his chest was gone. He felt light, as though he were suddenly made of nothing but air. Watching the last of the butterflies disappear into the cool September sky Merlin felt tears falling unbidden down his wizened cheeks. He ran an absent-minded finger over the ring of metal on his chest, tracing the arches of the dove's wings with feverish anticipation. He had been waiting nearly two millennia for a sign. This was it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

.-- .. - .... / - .... . .. .-. / ... .... .. -- -- . .-. .. -. --. / ... --- ..- -. -..

 

Merlin had been hopeful. He had tripped and scrabbled up the rocky path to the dragonstone, all thoughts for his ageing body lost in the pure and unadulterated joy of what he had just witnessed. He laid his hand on the dragon’s flank, leaning over to rest his head against the cool stone. A faint humming resonated through the rock. Merlin told the dragonstone animatedly of the cocoons and the butterflies, and what he thought it meant. He felt a thousand questions cascade from between his lips. What he should do? Where should he look? Would he have to find Arthur, or would the man find his way to him? Would Arthur even be able to find him, or would he be a helpless child?

  


The stone hummed, but said nothing.

  


He tired himself out talking and laughing, letting the elation wash over him until he felt giddy, high from the sheer magnitude of it all. It hadn't lasted.

 

Merlin had waited agitatedly for something, anything that could point him in the right direction. But as the weeks wore on, his hope began to fade. The landscape around him turned from green to orange to red to brown, the early Autumn frosting over with a bitter Winter chill. He slowly became a recluse once more, leaving his cottage only to traipse to and from the dragonstone. Day in and day out he made the journey up to the crags, but the dragon did nothing but thrum gently under his fingertips. Sometimes he wandered down to the lake, his eyes scanning the calm waters, framed by the surrounding mountains like some holiday postcard.

  


_Wish you were here._

  


Time was never something that Merlin had been very good with. The older he got the harder it was to keep track of the days as they slipped by. He had been so sure this time. Of course, there had been incidents before, when he had been sure, but there was something so spectacular about this time. It was as though the earth itself had shifted beneath him. Yet so much time had passed since then. How much he couldn’t be sure, but the saplings he had planted had grown up past his head, their bark no longer soft and pliable, the sweet damson fruit hanging fat and ripe, skin dark satin amongst the turning leaves. There had been winters too, more winters than damson harvests, that much he could remember. Every now and then someone would turn up at his door with baskets of this and trays of that, feigning some interest in his well-being. Merlin hadn't decided whether that was the truth, or whether they were just curious as to whether the kooky old man who lived in the hills was still alive. After a while even they stopped coming.

  


“Kilgharrah, old friend. I’m tired.” he said quietly as he slumped down next to the stone once more. “I’m so tired. I thought … I thought he was finally back.” He let a few tears spill down his face before he rubbed them away with the heel of his hand. He barked out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Maybe after all this time I’m finally going insane.”

  


The stone hummed, but said nothing.

  


He laughed through choking sobs, and lay down next to the rock. Perhaps today he would let the weather take him away, let the frailty of this body finally take hold. Maybe he would finally find some peace. Yet as the day wore on, the dying light fraying to watery threads, seeping through the clouds and over the rocks, Merlin’s manic melancholy began to turn to anger. He growled low in his throat, hitting the stone ineffectually, but with no true malice.

  


“What good are you to me like this?” he cried at the rock. “You could have stayed! Another century, you could have stayed! How am I supposed to do this on my own? Even if what I saw was a sign, how am I supposed to know what to do? Back then, back in the beginning, I always had you to guide me. When he was being stubborn and I was clueless, you were there with your convoluted destinies, and confusing riddles, steering me to the right road in your own damn way. Damn you, you thrice-cursed, glorified lizard! _Damn you!_ ”

  


The stone hummed, but said nothing.

  


He leaned heavily on his spindly legs and rose with a creak. The day had all but completely faded, giving way to a gloam of broken moonlight. Walking back to his cottage he regarded the lights of Claddgell warming the night sky in the distance. They seemed brighter and more numerous than he remembered. He sighed. There was his answer, he supposed. There was no way that he would ever find Arthur cooped up on his own in the middle of nowhere, and unless he found Arthur, there was no reason for him to still live. As ever, his king was the light at the end of the dark and ever lengthening tunnel.

  


*

 

The village had changed greatly from what it had been. There were more houses, stretching out closer to his cottage than he would have liked. There were shops with sliding doors and the cars parked outside looked sleeker than the boxy contraptions he had seen the last time he had been into Claddgell. How long had it truly been?

 

The old coffee shop was a quaint little building in the centre of the village, all white-washed walls with a blue slate roof, and large glass windows framed with dark wood. Inside had a rustic feel to it, little patterned tablecloths and wooden chairs, net curtains, and a vintage wooden counter sporting some impressively ornate cake stands. The door even had a little bell that tinkled gently as you opened it.

 

Merlin smiled at the musical little noise as he stepped inside.

 

“Emrys?!” The startled voice came from a thin middle-aged woman stood behind the counter. Her eyes were wide with disbelief as she swept errant hairs from her face. “Jesus, we all thought you'd … well, no one had seen you in so long … where have you been?”

  


“Good morning,” Merlin smiled warmly. She had had fewer lines around her eyes and mouth, and her dark hair, pulled up into a high, scrubby ponytail, had flecks of grey threaded amongst her wiry curls, but she had barely changed. She looked increasingly like her mother. “Anna.”

 

“Nice to know you're not going senile at least, love.” She said wryly. “Still have your coffee like most have their treacle?” He cracked her a smile in reply and she rolled her eyes. “Any honey for me today?”

 

“I'm afraid not, but the damson trees are doing well, if you'll relieve me of some jam.”

 

Anna raised a brow, before shaking her head and taking the jar from him. “For you, darling, always.”

  


Merlin took the coffee grateful, letting the mug warm his frail hands.

  


“You, sir, will have to let me know your secret.” Anna said, perching on the chair next to him.

 

The old man looked up. “My secret?”

 

“I remember you from when I was a very little girl, and my Ma said that she remembered you since _she_ was a little girl. Yet here you are, still sprightly enough to be picking damsons and traipsing down from that cottage of yours for a cup of coffee. You're doing very well for a man of your age!”

 

Merlin huffed with bitter amusement. If only she knew.

 

Anna's smile faltered a little and her gaze dropped to a stain on her apron. “My Ma passed this April just gone. Grand old age of eighty two.” She hastily smeared a tear across her cheek.

 

Merlin's heart sank. He had known Anna's mother well, she had been strong-willed and fiercely intelligent. As a girl she was never seen without grazed knees and dirt under her fingernails, always running up the trail to his cottage to beg some honeycomb from him, her auburn hair freed from her pigtails, and her face ruddy with cold. She had been charmingly insistent. As a woman she had caused a stir running off to marry a black man after the war. She had caused even more of a fuss returning with said husband and their squalling daughter, skin as dark as her father's and eyes full of storm clouds. “I'm sorry, Anna. She was a good woman.”

 

The woman laughed sadly. “Better than many people deserved.”

 

“Like mother, like daughter.” He said quietly, taking her hands in his.

 

Her eyes met his tearfully, the same bright, brushed steel as they were the day Enid had proudly presented her to him. She gripped his hands firmly before pulling him into a close embrace. “I am so glad you're back.” she whispered before letting him go again. “Well, enough of that. I have customers to serve! As much as I love you old man, I've got a business to run.”

 

Merlin was utterly bewildered. He had never thought for a second that he held a place like that in anyone's life, that his presence would ever be _needed_ by anyone. How selfish he had been to think that he mattered so little to other people. He had spent so long wrapped up in his own worries and desires, never allowing himself to get attached to anything or anyone, he had forgotten that other people might form attachments to _him_.

  


*

 

Over the next few days he slowly found his way back to the places and the people he had neglected. The library had changed little on the outside, but the neglected biography section had been filled with DVDs, disks that had somehow progressed from the tapes he had only just become familiar with before. It made little sense to him but he marvelled at it all the same. The librarians were all different, younger and less interested. All but one. He had smiled broadly at the old man and it had taken a little while for Merlin to recognise him. Gone was the spotty teenager, in his stead was a full grown man, all broad shoulders and five o'clock shadow.

  


_Life goes on_ , Merlin thought to himself, _yet that doesn't diminish any single part of it lived by any individual._

  


How often he forgot that.

  


He made a special effort to collect the best honey and comb he could, packaged it nicely with some damson jam and a bottle of damson gin and set out to visit Anna.

  


The light from the café was warm as it spilled out onto the pavement outside. From the door Merlin could see an array of cakes and scones adorning the counter, and Anna bustling about behind it. He smiled, adjusting the the basket on his arm before opening the door.

 

The smile abruptly slipped from his face. The air rushed from his lungs and the feeling in his legs all but subsided completely. All thoughts of the basket were forgotten as it clattered to the floor. Stood in front of him, a brown apron wrapped around his waist and a gentle smile gracing his features, was Arthur. The planes of his face were exactly as Merlin remembered them, sharp and square, but softened by a strange youthfulness that Merlin wasn’t sure he remembered, even when they had first met. His eyes were that selfsame sea grey, but they weren’t hard or flinty, they were dull, not a spark of life in them. He handed the young girl her receipt with that same muted smile and turned to face his next customer. The smile faded.

  


They stood for a few moments just looking at one another. The hazy expression had cleared from his face, replaced with a pained, cold look. His eyes flitted over Merlin’s face, grasping at something just out of his reach. The muscles in his jaw twitched and pulsed as he clenched his teeth together.

  


His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, as though his mouth had gone dry. “You … I …” He began.

  


“Oh Emrys! Are you okay?” Anna cried, rushing over. She knelt down to pick up the fallen produce. “I don't think any of the jars are damaged, love, although the comb looks a little worse for wear.”

  


“It was for you,” Merlin managed. “But I can collect some more. No need for you to have broken comb.”

  


The woman swatted the suggestion away with a wave of her hand. “Oh don't be ridiculous, any gift from you is worth its weight in gold. Not to mention, I break my comb up anyway, so it's just perfect for me.”

 

She turned to the young man behind the counter, placing the basket of food on the surface in front of him. “Don’t worry about this old fellow, he’s practically everyone’s grandpa and he pays for coffee with home-harvested honey, and damson gin now too, apparently.” She laughed and touched the young man's arm tentatively. “You leave him to me and go and serve the next customer.”

  


Arthur nodded absently, his eyes glazing over once again as he turned to the woman behind Merlin. His gaze lingered only for a second before he was gone.

  


“Usual, love?” Anna said with a smile. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She glanced over to the young man at the counter. “He’s an odd one I’ll give you that. Arthur they said his name is. On a rehabilitation and work programme from the local psychiatric home. Harmless, but twitchy as a rabbit.”

  


Merlin felt numb, his finger tingling and twitchy, the peripheries of his vision obscure and dark. He could barely hear what Anna was saying, it was so loud, her voice buzzing like static. “Psychiatric home?”

  


“Yeah, bless him.” Anna said with a sigh. “So young to be so broken. They wouldn’t tell me exactly what was wrong with him, only that he’s harmless, just a little delusional.”

  


“Delusional?”

  


“Yes, love. But like I said, they didn’t tell me much more than that.” She pursed her lips. “You go and take your seat and I’ll come over in a minute.”

 

The old man's eyes followed her as she went, flitting from her to the young man behind the counter. He looked young. Merlin could see now that he was younger than he had ever known him before. He was barely an adult, seventeen at most. It was surreal to see him without the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders. There was still something sad and lost in his eyes, but he moved unencumbered by responsibility. His smiles were small, but soft and genuine, so unlike the brash, strong-headed man Merlin had once known. Where his king would have laughed openly and smiled widely, this boy had a more reserved air to him. He was courteous and apologetic, the warlock would have gone as far as to say he was meek.

 

“Something bothering you about him, Emrys?” Anna said as she put the coffee down beside him.

 

Merlin took the mug and sipped tentatively at the hot liquid. “He reminds me of someone I used to know, a long, long time ago.”

 

A puzzled look came over the woman's face. “This person you used to know, were they male or female?”

 

“Male, why?” He replied, taking another sip.

 

Anna grinned. “Oh good, I just thought that the way you were looking at him was like you were trying to work out if you could see yourself in him.” She raised a suggestive brow.

 

Merlin choked out a laugh. “Oh Anna, no, no, nothing like that. I had a friend, a soldier, a leader. He died young.”

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

His gaze was fixed on the vapour coming off the coffee. It danced up in lazy swirls before disappearing entirely. “I've lost so many people, but they still haunt me, even now.”

 

Anna frowned, but said nothing, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder before heading out through the back. When she returned she slid a small slip of paper across to him.

 

“Call them. You've been alone for far too long.”

 

Scrawled on the scrap of paper was a number and the words: _St. Peris' Mental Health Rehabilitation Home._

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

.- -. -.. / ..-. .-. --- --. ... / .. -. / - .... . / .--. --- --- .-.. ... --..-- / ... .. -. --. .. -. --. / .- - / -. .. --. .... -

 

Merlin looked at the slip of paper again. It was taunting him, the indented cursive dark against the white paper, sat tantalisingly next to his battered old telephone. He had folded and unfolded it in his hands until the edges were soft and warped. He had neglected to look at it for the entire journey home, but once he got there the temptation was just too great. Merlin wanted to know, but at the same time it was clear that this Arthur was not _his_ Arthur. What right did he have to him? He might have family and friends. How could he waltz back into his life expecting to be as close to him as he once had been. He looked like Arthur, he sounded like Arthur, he might even _be_ Arthur, but that young man was not the king, and the friend whose side he had stood by all those years ago.

 

Despite all of that he was itching to know something. Anything. He had been waiting too long to just let it lie.

 

He picked up the receiver and dialled.

 

The tone shrilled a few times, clicked and went silent before a voice crackled through the old machine. “St. Peris' Mental Health Rehabilitation Home, Doctor Bennett speaking.”

 

The words that had, only moments ago, been threatening to spill over had all but evaporated.

 

“Hello?”

 

Merlin coughed. “I'm sorry, it was a mistake for me to call.”

 

He was moving the phone away from his ear when he heard Doctor Bennett speak again. “Wait, is this Emrys Jones?”

 

Merlin paused, bring the phone back up to his ear. “Yes. How did you-”

 

“Ms. Walcott mentioned that there was someone interested in Arthur and that they'd call on my direct line. If you'd like to come and see me in person we could talk more about it.”

 

Anna had called Arthur's doctor about him? Why would she do that? She couldn't possibly know the significance of her actions, could she?

 

“I don't think...” He wanted to say no. He wanted to just walk away and leave Arthur and his new life in peace. He hated himself, but he had to know. “Okay. When?”

 

“I'm free Friday from six?”

 

Merlin nodded mutely for a moment before replying. “Friday after six. That sounds fine.”

 

“I'll see you then Mr. Jones.”

 

The phone clicked and the tone resonated out through the receiver, leaving Merlin to the suddenly uncomfortable emptiness of his small house.

 

*

 

The bell tinkled brightly as Merlin stepped into _Enid's_. Arthur was arranging pastries behind the counter and Anna was cleaning the coffee machine. Her smile faltered as she took in the expression on Merlin's face.

 

“Hiya Emrys, usual?” She said hesitantly.

 

Merlin shook his head. “Actually, I'd like a word, in private if you don't mind.”

 

She nodded and set the cloth down on the surface, gesturing to the kitchens in the back.

 

The counters in the kitchen were still dusted white with flour, and the scent of butter pastry was almost overwhelming. Anna brushed at the flour with a towel ineffectually for a while before Merlin spoke.

 

“You called St. Peris'.”

 

Anna paled. “Emrys, I didn't mean to pry, I'm so-”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Anna stilled, frowning minutely. It took a moment before she truly realised what he had said. Her face broke into a brilliant smile.

 

Merlin sighed, smiling sadly in return. “I don't think that you will ever understand the significance of what you've done for me, but I think you might have saved me.”

 

She cocked her head to the side a fraction. “Emrys.” She said softly, reaching out a hand to touch his.

 

“Please, I don't need your pity.” he said, without malice. “It does not seem so long ago that you were just a little girl, yet here you are, a woman grown, helping me in ways I didn't know I needed helping. I never had children, but if I had ever had a daughter...”

 

“I know, old man, I know.” She said, placing a hand to his wrinkled face. “I'll get Arthur to bring your coffee over, huh?”

 

Merlin nodded and followed her out. He sat down in his usual chair, at his usual table, but for the first time in a long time, it felt as though the world had shifted. He looked at Anna talking to the blonde man, no, practically a boy, and felt a suffocating pain in his chest. It was like seeing a ghost, not tangible, and yet there he was. He looked back at him briefly and Merlin averted his gaze. It was a fresh pain every time he laid eyes on him. He had spent so long waiting, he could scarcely believe that it was real. When he looked back up Arthur was walking towards him, mug in hand. He approached warily, setting the mug down on the table next to Merlin. He stood silently for a minute.

 

“I'm sorry I startled you before.” He said suddenly. “I hadn't meant to.”

 

The sound of his voice hadn't changed. Not after a two thousand year, it was still the same. It took all of Merlin's willpower not to choke up. “No, it's quite alright. It wasn't your fault.”

 

The boy smiled a small, relieved smile before adding. “I'm Arthur, by the way.”

 

“I know.” Was all Merlin managed.

 

Arthur gave him a curious look. “Okay, well, it was nice meeting you Mr. Jones. I have to get back to work.”

 

“Of course. Yes.” Merlin said hurriedly. “Please.”

 

With a last nod of his head he returned to the counter. Friday was looking to be more daunting by the second. Did he really want to find out about him? Did he want to know about the life this boy had lead without him? Then again, it wasn't so much a want now as it was a need. He _had_ to know. He could feel the anticipation like a shot of adrenaline in his veins. This was really happening. After all this time, it was finally happening.

 

*

 

St. Peris' Mental Health Rehabilitation Home was not nearly as grand a building as the name suggested. The road leading up to the house was long and winding, and the complex was set in a leafy crop of woodland, but the house itself was a modern building, all light wood, white wall, and terracotta roof tiles. Set into the walls were swathes of glass, just catching the warmth of the evening sunlight. The paths connecting the different parts of the home were gravelled with dusty limestone and bordered with rose-hips and white hydrangeas. It was bright, open, and green, and it made Merlin smile. He had been so worried that all this time Arthur had been in some dingy asylum, but this felt like a place where people could heal. He buzzed the intercom outside the front door and told the tinny-voiced receptionist who he was here to see. The door buzzed and clicked unlocked.

 

The receptionist was far less tinny in person, smiling genially as she directed him to the doctor's office. He rapped lightly on the door.

 

“Come in.”

 

He pushed the door open, and was greeted by a tired, middle aged man. His face was kind, creasing slightly with stress and age, but his dark eyes were still alert and fiercely intelligent.

 

“Dr. Bennett.”

 

He smiled, turning down the radio that was sat muttering about some political unrest somewhere in the world, and stuck his hand out. Merlin shook it gratefully. “Mr. Jones, I'm glad you made it. Please take a seat.”

 

Merlin did so gratefully. Doctor Bennett's office was roomy, if a little cluttered, filled with books, papers, and various framed photographs.

 

“Ms. Walcott tells me that you have a suitable home and disposition to foster a young adult.” Bennett said directly.

 

Merlin started. “Foster?”

 

The doctor frowned. “Yes. Did you not express an interest in fostering Arthur?”

 

“I …” Anna was sly, he'd give her that. If only she knew the truth of what she'd done. “Yes, although I was not aware that she had taken it as seriously as she apparently has done.”

 

The frown deepened. “Are you not serious?”

 

“Oh, I am, it was just a matter I thought was a mite more private than it appears to have become.” Merlin replied quickly.

 

He ran a relieved hand through his silvering hair, his expression relaxing. “Well, that shouldn't be a problem now. Before I contact the fostering services I wanted to make absolutely sure that you know exactly what you're getting into with this young man.”

 

Merlin nodded.

 

“Arthur has been my patient for a long time, although not always directly, and not always anywhere as pleasant as this, I'm afraid to say. I've watched him grow up, and I've had to deal with his condition throughout his childhood and adolescence, more so in the latter years, so I know the full extent of his issues. Arthur has what is known as psychosis. He has periods of very vivid visual and auditory hallucinations, as well as deeply ingrained delusions of grandeur. He believes, and has done for most of his life, that he is King Arthur, from the legend, you know. During his particularly bad episodes he often talks about his knights, about dragons and sorcerers, and a whole host of other fantastic creatures that he allegedly fought to protect his kingdom. Obviously we wouldn't have put him on the work scheme if he was not significantly recovered. He has been taking anti-psychotics and has been through many rounds of CBT with several different therapists. His recovery is slow, but steady.”

 

Merlin's brow furrowed. “Anti-psychotics?”

 

“Yes.” the doctor replied, rifling through some paperwork. “Drugs that help to maintain the correct levels of dopamine in his brain. Often hallucinations, like the ones that Arthur is prone to, are caused by too much dopamine. It's like he's on a permanent high. We found that some of the lower doses really weren't producing the desired results. But not to worry, he's on a much higher dose now, he's far more sedentary and no harm to anyone.”

 

“Why?”

 

Bennett looked up distractedly. “Hmm?”

 

“Why do you think he's insane? What reasons do you have to think he needs fixing?” Merlin said, a growl of accusation creeping into his voice.

 

Doctor Bennett paused for a moment, taken aback by this sudden hostility. “Please, sir, we don't refer to people suffering with mental illnesses as _insane_ … and the reason behind Arthur's psychosis appears to have stemmed from childhood trauma. His mother died in childbirth, and his father committed suicide in front of him in a particularly scarring manner. He's been in and out of homes for twelve years, it's really no wonder he is the way he is.”

 

Merlin simply nodded once more resignedly. “I have no issue with that. We all have our scars.”

 

The doctor gave him a tired, but genuine smile. “Indeed we do. When the fostering service have spoken to you, and assessed your eligibility, I shall give you the detail of his medication, emergency contact details, and some general advice about handling his condition should it deteriorate in any way.”

 

“This isn't normal procedure, is it.”

 

Doctor Bennett cleared his throat nervously. “No, it's not, but I've been close to Arthur for many years now. He has been through a lot of foster homes, and has had some truly horrific experiences. He needs a good home with someone who understands at least a little of how it feels to be alone, and to have lost people. Ms. Walcott thought that you would be able to offer that. I want him to be happy. He deserves to be.”

 

He felt his throat tighten a little. “I'll try my best.”

 

*

 

Merlin hated looking in the mirror. The face that looked back at him was false, but at the same time, it was a better representation of who he had become than what his true face told. The man he looked like outwardly bore all of the scars he should have collected. His skin, creased and mottled around his eyes, carried the loss of every person he had ever loved and lost. His cheeks that had taken to being so jowly that it left him looking permanently sullen, were heavy with the abuse and hatred that he had been subjected to over the years for one seemingly trivial thing or another. His eyebrows practically obscured his eyes, which looked smaller in his face than they actually were, hiding the sadness that lurked in their depths at the horror he had seen on his travels. The white beard and mop of tangled hair were thin and scraggly, and aged him so much that he often had to will some darker strands of grey into them just to make his continuing existence seem feasible. He sighed as he ran a comb through the tangled mess. There seemed to be more threads of darker grey in his hair and beard today than there had been the day before, and Merlin was nothing but thankful of it. Today more than ever he had to look competent, and young enough to be a guardian and not just a helpless old man. With every stroke of the comb he threaded a little more grey into his hair, lifting the jowls a little and smoothing a few of the creases around his eyes. He looked less like a ninety year old now, more like a competent man in his seventies. Satisfied, he took a pair of scissors and began to trim some of the hair out of his face. Looking in the mirror now he saw more of his father in him than he had ever expected. If only he had got to see his father at this age.

 

There was a firm knock at the door that broke his train of thought. Putting the comb down he hurried towards the door. Stood outside was a smartly dressed woman, her hair pinned back into a high bun. She was clutching a clipboard and some assorted papers to her chest. She offered him a constrained smile.

 

“Mr. Jones? I'm Erin Parry, I'm here to assess your house, and conduct the preliminary interviews for the CSSIW.”

 

“I know, I mean … pleased to meet you. Come in, would you like a cup of tea or coffee?” Merlin replied, ushering her in.

 

She shook her head, turning to her clipboard. “I'll take a look at your home first, then we'll continue to the interviews.”

 

Merlin nodded mutely and followed her through the house. She frowned, scribbling down notes as she went.

 

“Is there a problem?” Merlin asked as she tutted for a fourth time.

 

“While the garden and surrounding land is perfect for a problem child, for a calming atmosphere and duties to distract from adverse behaviour, your house will need some serious work doing to it before it can be considered suitable.”

 

“He'll be having the bedroom, I'll be getting a new bed for myself and turning the sitting room into a bedroom. I just haven't got around to it yet.” Merlin offered.

 

Erin hummed dismissively and continued round. After a good half an hour Erin settled in the kitchen and set her papers down on the table.

 

“I have concluded the first part of this assessment, I'd like to move on to the interviews.” She gestured to the seat opposite her. “Please.”

 

Merlin sat down cautiously.

 

She cleared her throat before beginning. “The fostering service requires foster carers to provide a safe, healthy, and nurturing environment. You will be expected to provide said environment to help enhance your foster child's confidence and feelings of self-worth. Foster carers are expected to give each child encouragement and equal access to opportunities to develop and pursue their talents, interests, and hobbies. You will be provided with written guidelines on their health and safety and will be required to go through training for foster carers, in your case this would pertain specifically to caring for a child who has been abused, safe caring skills, managing behaviour, and recognising signs of abuse.”

 

As Erin continued, Merlin felt the colour drain from his face. He had never thought for a moment that it would be this complicated. There were so many rules and regulations, not to mention this woman was talking about Arthur as an abused child in need of shelter. Arthur. His Arthur. Arthur, the leader and King of all Albion, reduced to nothing more than an abused child, terrified of what was going on in his own brain. He couldn't shake the dread that was creeping from the tips of his fingers, up his arms, and wrapping itself around his chest. He answered the questions she posed with as much gusto as he could muster, trying to still his shaking hands while he did.

 

When she had finally finished she tapped the papers into a neat pile and clipped them to her board. “Well, Mr. Jones. Everything seems to be in order for the time being. There will be follow up interviews, as well as formal assessments and training. It will take at least seven months before you can be considered a competent and qualified foster carer.”

 

Merlin balked. “Seven months? Can't it be any sooner?”

 

The woman frowned. “No.”

 

Seven months. That was over half a year. Could he really wait that long? He thought of the boy he had seen at the counter, the soft smile, the mussed golden hair, the way his eyes had cleared just for a moment when he saw him. He had lived a thousand lives waiting for this opportunity, would he allow it to slip through his fingers? As he watched Erin leave, it occurred to him that he decidedly could not.

 

“Wait!”

 

The social worker stopped, turning round to face him. Merlin swallowed, he hated to do this. He hated using people, but as ever, he was doing it for Arthur. If Arthur was back, he was back for a reason.

 

“Consider all the training completed, and all the paperwork filed.” Merlin said, his gaze golden and fixed intently on her.

 

Her eyes clouded a little, and she nodded. “Of course. Everything seems to be in order. I just have to finalise paperwork. You should have your foster child with you within a fortnight.”

 

With that, she left. Merlin sighed, collapsing onto the sofa. A fortnight.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

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The best kind of mornings were the crisp, clear Autumn mornings that nipped with icy teeth at his face and his fingers. The air damp and so cold it was almost stifling, crystallising in his lungs as he breathed it in. There was a mist that ghosted over the hills and skated over the lake. It jewelled the plants and beaded the spiders webs until they sagged heavily with their dewy diamonds. Merlin smiled, tightening his coat around him and unlocking the hen house, its inhabitants brooding sleepily. He collected the eggs and placed them gingerly into his basket. It was nice to bask in the peaceful dawn hours, it was probably the last bit of peace he was going to have for a long time. The two weeks had passed slowly, and yet now the day was here, it had come all too soon.

 

The smile slipped from his face. He closed the hen house up and hurried back to the cottage sullenly. Since the afternoon with the social worker he had felt the guilt and apprehension creeping up on him. Now it loomed over his shoulder like some dark, omnipresent cloud. The longer he thought about it, the less sure Merlin was about it all. It had caused him such pain and confusion meeting Arthur again, how was he going to live with him under his own roof? He couldn't just force this revelation onto the boy either, so that meant he had to lie to him, about who he was, about why he had decided to foster him, about everything. He couldn't just reveal to someone who had been in and out of psychiatric homes all of their life that there was never anything wrong with them in the first place. If Arthur wasn't already traumatised he certainly would be after that.

 

Shrugging off his coat he placed the basket on the counter top. He huffed out warm breath into his stiff hands and rubbed them together. He really was getting too old for this. Washing the eggs carefully and setting them to one side he found himself glancing over at the clock ticking away on the wall, then to the door, then the window, before his eyes fell to the clock once more. They weren't supposed to arrive until the evening, but Merlin's nerves were fluttering low in his stomach, and he couldn't sit still. He turned the television on, flitting through channels absent-mindedly. Floods in one place, civil unrest in another, the only things anyone ever reported any more were horrifying and fear-inducing. He switched over, a map of Asia swapped for the plains of central Africa. Nature documentaries, now that was more diverting. People were so self-centred, the world was so much bigger and more wonderful than the petty disputes between one country and another. Yet even the bright images of lions and their prey couldn't distract Merlin from the lure of the clock. Time seemed to be crawling, each tick and thunk of the clock's mechanism seemed to take longer than the last, the minutes stretching out further and further apart. He watched the sun trace its way across the sky, warming the pale blue sky until it burned orange and umber and pink, leaving nothing behind but a smattering of stars glittering in the vast, inky absence of the night, and the soft glow of Claddgell below. Finally there was a knock at the door. Merlin scrabbled to open it, pasting as honest a smile on his face as he could manage. Smiling back at him warmly was a thick set woman, far more casually dressed than the last, with small, kind eyes, and a demeanour that reminded Merlin of his mother.

 

“Hi Mr. Jones, I'm Linda, Arthur's social worker. He's just getting his bags out of the car.” She said brightly. “He's a little nervous, I'm not going to lie. Arthur's done the rounds, so to speak, and he's been through a lot of homes, so he'll just be waiting for this one to go wrong. Try not to be disheartened by his attitude. I hope this time will be different for him.”

 

Merlin frowned. “It will.”

 

She nodded solemnly. “Good. A positive attitude is always a good start.” She glanced over Merlin's shoulder and into the house behind, before turning back to him. “I'm afraid I can't stay, we're running a little late and Arthur's pretty tired anyway.”

 

“Hey Linda, I think that's everything.” Came a voice from behind them.

 

Arthur trudged up the path towards the house, two duffel bags in hand, and a rucksack slung over one shoulder. He looked different out of his work clothes. His carefree, friendly demeanour was gone, replaced with a tired, sallow expression. His shoulders were slouched and his frame was almost lost completely in the baggy jeans and oversized hoodie he was wearing. Exhaustion was a leaden weight on his eyelids, and his almost vacant gaze was fixed on the ground at his feet.

 

Linda turned to him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Arthur, this is Emrys Jones, your new foster carer. Mr. Jones, this is Arthur.”

 

The boy looked up at him. For a brief second his jaw went slack, his dull eyes shining just a little brighter. His brow creased minutely as he took in the man in front of him, a flicker of recognition gracing his features. Opening his mouth he began to say something, only to close it again, falling silent. His frown deepened and he began again.

 

“This guy?” Arthur said incredulously. “Are you seriously telling me _this_ is my new foster carer? He looks like he needs a carer himself!”

 

Merlin let out a startled laugh.

 

“Arthur! Don't be rude!” Linda scolded, turning back to Merlin apologetically. “I'm sorry Mr. Jones, he isn't normally like this, I don't know what's come over him.”

 

Arthur frowned at Merlin again before returning his gaze to the floor and mumbling an apology.

 

“No, it's quite alright, I wouldn't expect any less from a lad his age.” Merlin replied quietly. For a moment he had seemed as brash and unapologetic as his Arthur had been. Perhaps there was hope yet.

 

Linda smiled. “Sure thing. Well, it seems like everything is in order, so I'll leave you two to it! I'll be back to check up on things in a couple of days. If you have any issues or questions please feel free to call me.” She handed him a small business card, which he took gratefully, before leaving, waving to them both as she went.

 

The silence stretched out between them, and Merlin wondered how it was possible for so much silence to be contained in such a small house. He cleared his throat. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

 

Arthur shook his head, but said nothing.

 

“So, umm … this is the kitchen, the bathroom is to your right and the bedroom is through the back. You can sleep in there, I'll take the sofa until we can find a more suitable arrangement.” He said gruffly, picking up the duffel bags.

 

Arthur started. “Oh, I couldn't let you do that.”

 

Merlin raised a brow. “Let me do what?”

 

“Sleep on the sofa.” He replied hesitantly.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because you … I mean surely it isn't good for a man of your …” the sentence died on Arthur's tongue at the withering look from the old man. “Please take the bed, I'll be fine on the sofa.”

 

Merlin harrumphed but said nothing to the contrary, putting Arthur's bags down on the bed. The boy allowed himself a private smile.

 

“Well, it's late, you'll be tired after today.” He gestured pointedly at the bedroom. Arthur said nothing, frowning at a spot on the floor. “Are you okay to unpack on your own?”

 

He remained silent for a while longer before he opened his mouth almost reluctantly. “I'm sorry about earlier.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

Arthur cleared his throat. “What I said, about you being old.”

 

Merlin snorted. “Think nothing of it. I've had worse said to me in the past.”

 

“No, but really, Linda was right, that's not like me. I don't know why I said it. Maybe it's because I'm tired, I haven't been sleeping too well. I'm sorry.” Arthur swallowed thickly, wringing his hands.

 

Merlin sighed. “Honestly boy, thank you for the apology, but it's not necessary. You needn't be so polite in this house. You're not on show. I've got you here now, and no amount of bad behaviour will change that. This is a home for you for as long as you want or need it to be.”

 

Arthur huffed out a sad laugh. “Yeah, sure. You say that, for now.”

 

That night the sound of quiet sobbing seeped from under the bedroom door, a sombre lullaby for the inhabitants of the little cottage by the lake.

 

*

 

It had been a long time since Merlin had had to cook for anyone but himself, and he was oddly disquieted at the prospect. He cracked three eggs into a bowl and whisked them, their sunny golden centres bleeding together until they were pale and light. As he lit the hob with a hiss and whoosh he heard the gentle padding of feet across the wooden floors behind him. He turned around to see Arthur in sleep-rumpled pyjama bottoms and a thick woollen jumper. He had his arms curled protectively around himself and was vainly trying to stifle a yawn. It was odd to see someone who had always been so outwardly confident suddenly so quiet and reserved. But then it wasn't sudden at all, he had been told to expect this demeanour, because this was what this Arthur was like. It was going to take a long time to shake the memories of the man he had known before. He was not King Arthur, now was nothing like it was back then, and Merlin was awash with an overwhelming loneliness.

 

He cleared his throat and threw a knob of butter sizzling into the pan. “I hope omelettes are alright for you.”

 

Arthur nodded but said nothing, looking intently at the eggs as Merlin poured them over the bubbling butter. He took a step closer.

 

“I...”

 

Merlin turned round to see him stood right next to him.

 

“I never really got the hang of cooking. There were classes at the home, but no one ever really taught me. Do you think ...” He trailed off again, returning his gaze sullenly to the floor.

 

“Of course. This is pretty simple, if you'd like to try now.”

 

Arthur's head shot up. “I … really?”

 

Merlin felt a smile creep onto his face. “Sure. This one was going to be for you, and I was going to make myself something a little later, but I can eat this one now if you'd like to have a go at making your own.”

 

He looked at the pan for a second, then back at Merlin, his eyes widening like a small animal stepping out into oncoming traffic. But slowly he nodded and took the mixing bowl from Merlin uncertainly.

 

To say that Arthur was a truly terrible cook would have been a little harsh, but entirely accurate. It warmed Merlin through to see that not everything about him had changed.

 

"Arthur, just crack the eggs gently! No, don't smash it! You just have to crack the shell enough to get the egg out."

 

Arthur, hands sticky with raw egg, tapped his fourth egg tentatively against the side of the bowl, "I shouldn't be doing this. I'm wasting food. I'm sorry." The shell cracked slightly.

 

"Look, just like that!" Merlin gestured towards the crack, "Now split it into the bowl, there you go!”

 

Very slowly he prised the egg apart and its contents fell into the bowl with a satisfying  _plop_ . Arthur's face lit up, as he watched his second and third successful attempts join his first. He beat them lightly, sprinkled them with salt and pepper, and poured them into the hot pan.

 

“Now whisk it a little in the pan, there you go. Now leave it for a bit, then just push the edges a little so that it cooks through.” Merlin said, watching him intently, his heart swelling with a pride that he hadn't expected to surface so soon. 

 

Folding the omelette proved to be more difficult and when the two sat down the mangled omelette that sat on Arthur's plate truly was a sad sight. Yet Arthur ate it happily, clearly pleased at his own fledgling cooking abilities. After that the two lapsed into silence.

 

“I remember you from _Enid's._ ”

 

Merlin looked up. Arthur was pushing the remains of his omelette around his plate distractedly.

 

“Do you now.”

 

Arthur wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. “Yeah. You look different though. I don't know why, but something's different about you.”

 

“I see.” The old man replied, raising a brow.

 

“Not in a bad way, I mean, perhaps I caught you on a bad day before, you did seem a little jumpy. Back then you kind of reminded me of someone, but I'm not so certain you do any more.”

 

Merlin swallowed thickly. “I'll admit, I was a little flighty that day. It had been a while since I'd been around anyone at all. Perhaps the exposure is doing me some good.”

 

“I'd say so. You look … healthier? I don't know if that's the right word. Sorry.”

 

He raised a bushy brow incredulously. “Don't apologise, please. It doesn't suit you.”

 

Arthur huffed out a laugh and smiled softly. “I'm not  _that_ arrogant you know.”

 

“I doubt you're all that meek either, when people get to know you.”

 

“You're very astute.” He replied wryly.

 

Merlin grinned. “And there you go, proving my point.”

 

The burgeoning smile fell from Arthur's face and he fell silent again, frowning pensively. Merlin couldn't count the number of times he had walked in on his king looking over maps and letters with that same expression gracing his features. For a moment he found it hard to breathe. He stood abruptly and took Arthur's plate from in front of him, dumping them in the sink. The boy slunk away to his room without another word, and failed to reappear.

 

The next morning Merlin made porridge, rapping on the bedroom door to no avail. The bowl lay untouched outside his door, as did the sandwich after that.

 

There was a niggling in the back of Merlin's mind that was willing him to go and talk to him. Arthur was here, back in his life, and he had so much he wanted to tell him, and so much to talk about. The need was searing, scratching at him from under his skin. How could he possibly have thought this was a good idea? He had spent years lying about his identity before, he thought it would be easy, but after all this time all he wanted to do was tell Arthur everything. He needed to get out, the proximity was stifling. He headed for the front door, grabbing his coat as he went.

 

“I'm going out, I'll be back soon.” He called. The house was silent. “Arthur?”

 

A vague sound of non-committal came from the back room and Merlin sighed, closing the door behind him. The day was blustery but bright, wisps of cloud racing across the sky overhead. He belatedly wished he had brought a scarf as he tightened his coat around him. Slate crunched under his boots satisfyingly as he approached the large stone, looming tall and dark in front of him. He felt the chill fall away, and a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He was never sure if it was his own spell, or just the though of visiting the dragon that warmed him through, but there was a sense of comfort that overwhelmed him whenever he was there.

 

Patting the dragon he smiled wearily. “Kilgharrah, old friend, how are you today?”

 

The stone hummed, but said nothing.

 

“Yeah, just what I thought.” He muttered wryly as he sat down. “I don't know what I've done. You would have warned me not to do this, albeit cryptically.” Merlin scrubbed a hand down his face wearily. “He's here. He's really here, right under my roof, and yet he's never felt further away.”

 

The stone hummed, but said nothing.

 

Sighing, he rested his head against the cold of the stone. “I guess you'd probably tell me that it was my destiny to guide him, or something. I just wish I knew what I was guiding him towards. He's just a lost boy, broken and alone, and I don't know how to connect to him as Emrys. As Merlin I was a friend, a servant, a guardian. How can I possibly make this work? Yesterday I thought we had something, but then he shut himself away again.”

 

Crooked fingers found the sigil pinned to his shirt and unfastened it clumsily. It no longer shone silver, it was darker and tarnished with age, but still as beautiful. It was the only tangible thing that Merlin had to remind him that this wasn't just the fever dream of an old man. Merlin clutched it tightly and held it to he chest. It hurt to be so close and yet somehow the task seemed more insurmountable than before.

 

“He's just a boy.” He whispered despairingly.

 

The stone hummed, but said nothing.

 

“I don't know what I was expecting. Perhaps things just seem so dire because I was hoping that once he was here we could simply pick up where we left off. That was naïve of me to say the least. Maybe he just needs some time.”

 

When he returned the plate was still outside the bedroom door, but empty this time. Merlin nodded to himself. Yes, perhaps in time.

 


	5. Chapter 5

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Arthur was sat, his legs folded underneath him and his chin tucked into the neck of the oversized jumper he was wearing. He had always thought that most old people kept their houses too warm, apparently Mr. Jones wasn't most old people. Then, he had known that from the start. He seemed weary of the world, yes, but there was a lightness to him that most elderly folk Arthur had encountered never had. In the first few days he had managed to do more for him than most families had done in months. He was so used to people treading on eggshells around him, but this guy seemed perfectly happy just tramping through his life with very little care for whether or not it would make him uncomfortable.

 

Just on cue there was a knocking at his door.

 

Arthur sighed. “Come in.”

 

Emrys poked his head into the room and smiled. “I'm going to pick some of the veg. I'd really appreciate a hand.”

 

Arthur looked up from the book and frowned. “The veg.”

 

Emrys raised an unimpressed brow. “Yes. The veg. You're living with me now, and using up my valuable resources. If you expect to be fed then you'd better pull your weight.”

 

Genuinely a little taken aback, Arthur opened his mouth to apologise before he saw the smirk begin to grow on Emrys' face. He snapped his mouth shut again and narrowed his gaze. “You're teasing me.”

 

The smirk blossomed to a full blown smile, wry and fond. “Very astute. But I'm not joking about the help. If I leave them in the ground much longer they'll be inedible. Two heads are better than one, or four hands in this case.”

 

Arthur just nodded as the man backed out of his room. Yeah, this guy was nothing like the other OAPs he'd met over the years. For one, he was a total bastard, a total bastard who for some unknown reason didn't treat him like such a child. There was no belittling, no talking about the good old days, no thinly veiled ageism. It was almost … friendly, as though they were both of an age, school friends, or maybe close siblings. It was just as unnerving as it was comforting. He hadn’t wanted to open up to the guy, he hadn’t even wanted to leave his room, but he was curious. There was something about this man…

 

“Hurry up Arthur, it looks like rain!” Emrys called from the front door.

 

Sighing, Arthur got up, slipped his feet into some old shoes, and grabbed a jacket from the end of the bed. Maybe that something was that he was unbelievably irritating.

 

He trudged outside to see Emrys, wrapped up in a dark blue coat, a thick red scarf covering his nose and mouth, leaning on a spade. There was something oddly familiar about the sight, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

 

The vegetable garden itself was larger than Arthur had remembered it being. Rows upon rows of tubers, leafy, green tops poking out above the loamy soil, pale bulbs of fennel with their feathery fronds, and bright, fat tomatoes, gems of vibrant colour amongst the greens and browns. In the far corner was a pumpkin patch filled with an assortment of the vegetable in a whole host of shapes, sizes, and colours. Some were stereotypically large and orange, home-grown Halloween decorations in the making, others were small and a deep green colour, there were even a few that were white and shallow ribbed that barely looked like pumpkins at all. It was incredible that such an old man had managed the upkeep of such an extensive garden, let alone tending the hives and the plum trees as well.

 

“Here” Emrys said, handing him a garden fork.

 

Arthur took it and eyed it warily. Truth be told, he was a little overwhelmed. “I, umm … I've not done much gardening before.”

 

“Why does that not surprise me … hand me that fork back and you can go and see if any aubergines are ripe.” He said taking the fork and replacing it with a canvas bag, before adding. “Dark, shiny and firm, but not too firm!”

 

“Yeah, firm but not too firm. Right. Really specific Emrys.” Arthur muttered as he made his way over to the patch of aubergines.

 

“Don't think I can't hear your smart remarks from over there.” Emrys called after him.

 

Arthur snorted with amusement. Okay, so maybe he did act like an old man every now and again.

 

The aubergines were in varying states of growth, some small. Emrys had been right when had said firm, but not firm. The solid vegetables were smaller, and lighter in colour, quite obviously not ripe. The larger, shinier ones were, as the old man had described, firm, but with just a little give. He pulled at a few, some coming away easier than others, and put them in the bag. He had wanted to be wary of him, especially since he was just going to get fed up of him and send him back one day. Everyone did. Yet, he found himself smiling more often when he was around. He felt lighter, less deadened by the drugs and sleepless nights. That didn't mean he'd let himself get attached. The old man was exactly that, old. Even if he didn't give up on his hopeless case, he'd be dead soon, just like everyone he got close to. At least he could bail soon. As soon as he turned eighteen he'd have a valid reason to leave. He'd stopped telling the doctors about the dreams and memories, so as far as they knew he was “better”. As long as they kept thinking that he could be on his way to true independence. Even so, there was something worming its way into his thoughts. That something's name was Emrys Jones.

 

Satisfied that he'd found all the ripe ones, he wandered back over to the old man. He was busy pulling beetroot from the soil with more ease than should have been afforded by a man of his age.

 

Arthur frowned. “I don't get you.”

 

“Haven't fathomed me out yet?” He replied, taking the bag from him.

 

“No, I-” Arthur stopped. Déjà vu.

 

Emrys was looking intently at his face. “You look tired.”

 

Arthur ducked his head self-consciously. “I don't sleep well.”

 

“With all the drugs they pump you with, I'm surprised they haven't given you something for that.” He replied sardonically, turning back to the fork, digging it into the ground with a hefty shove of his boot.

 

“Oh they have, it just doesn't work that well. None of the drugs do, they just make me placid and tired. Sometimes I find it difficult to concentrate on stuff, but they stop me feeling so anxious, even if they don't stop the visions.” Arthur said, frowning as Emrys began to pull more beetroot from the soil.

 

The old man paused. “Visions?”

 

He hated talking about it, but this guy seemed to genuinely care, and if he was ever going to get him off his back he’d have to open up. Hopefully he’d scare him off and have him carted him back off to the home. It was better for it to happen sooner rather than later so that he didn't get attached, a few months in the home before he turned eighteen wouldn’t be the end of the world, the last thing he needed was to go and get sentimental. “Yeah, part of psychosis. I can see things and hear things that don't exist.”

 

Emrys straightened up, leaning on the embedded fork. “How do you know that they don't exist?”

 

It was an odd question, and not one that Arthur had ever been asked before, even though it was one that had preoccupied most of his childhood thoughts. “Because they're ridiculous. I don't think people are watching me, or that the microwave is secretly monitoring my frequency, or that everyone is a paid actor in one big Truman Show delusion. Things like that are moderately plausible to the right mind, but what's wrong with me makes no sense to anyone. I used to believe it, which was what got me on these meds in the first place, but I've been through enough therapy to know that it's just my fucked up brain now.”

 

“What did you think was happening?”

 

The soil was spongy and dark under his boots. “I'd rather not talk about it.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Arthur looked up. That normally elicited an _Oh, but you can trust me_ or an _It helps to talk it through_ or whatever other CBT bullshit they were taught to say on the course. They’d think he was quiet, then feel so triumphant when they got him to talk. He’d open up about the darker stuff he saw, about the fire and the death, then they’d freak out and scarper. But no, not this guy, this guy was ... respecting his privacy? “Okay?”

 

Emrys smiled one of his soft, knowing smiles. “Yeah. Let's get these back to the house.”

 

Arms full of a variety of vegetables Arthur found himself unable to take his eyes from the man ahead of him. He was so different to the frail little man he had met in _Enid's_ that day, and so very different from what he had been expecting from a foster carer. He’d given up a long time ago on finding someone who would stick around, sick of one patronising adult after another. The ones who stuck he’d wanted to leave, and ones who left always broke his heart. Then there was Emrys. Perhaps not getting attached would prove to be more of a challenge than he'd anticipated.

 

*

 

The face in the mirror frowned back at Merlin. He looked so much like his father now, his hair and beard growing in thick and dark grey. He had whitened his hair again only the night before, but when he woke up it was even darker. He had never had problems with controlling his appearance before, but each day it seemed to be becoming increasingly difficult to keep his elderly persona. He willed the beard a little longer and sighed. Hopefully Arthur wouldn't notice. He sighed, glancing out into the empty house. When Arthur was working the place felt suddenly much emptier. He had lived here for decades completely alone, and yet now Arthur's absence was making it difficult to stay in the house. He would go to the café, but he didn't want it to seem as though he was checking up on him. He needed his independence. Unfortunately that independence left Merlin feeling very empty. For the first time since Kilgharrah passed he had had someone important back in his life.

 

He flicked through the newspaper in front of him absent-mindedly. It seemed that there was always war somewhere in the world, powerful countries stepping in when weaker countries didn't need them to, one threat countered with a bigger threat. Was there no end to human greed and bloodlust? Then again, page nine had a story about a pensioner who managed to get the upper hand while being mugged, and a fireman had saved some puppies in Llandudno. You had to treasure the small things to survive in a world like this one. He sighed and folded it up again.

 

Arthur wouldn't be back for another few hours and he was sick of sitting around on his own. Merlin grabbed his coat and scarf from the peg by the door and headed out into the hills. Winter was drawing in now, and the days were getting short and dark. The autumn leaves had all but gone from the trees, now standing spindly and awkward without their customary foliage. They swayed and creaked in the growing wind. Merlin wrapped his scarf tighter around him, he could have sworn it wasn't this windy when he had left the house. The cold was beginning to bite now, and in the shadow of the hills frost still lingered, dusting the ground white at his feet.

 

He smiled at the gargantuan rock in front of him, its wings jutting upwards like crooked spritsails. “Hello again old friend. I know it's been a while, things have been … better.”

 

The stone hummed, but said nothing.

 

“He's warming to me, I think. He's started opening up, telling me about himself. We've got a routine going, and I think he feels at home with me now. Every now and then I catch a glimpse of my Arthur, in the way the frowns when he reads, and the way he puffs his chest out just a little when he's done something he's proud of. He even teases me like he used to. It's nice.”

 

The wind began to bluster again, tugging at his hair and the edges of his coat. He adjusted his collar and carried on. “But there is one thing I'm concerned with. I seem to be getting younger. I try and I try but I can't keep my hair grey, or my skin wrinkled. I'm not losing my magic, because I seem to be able to cast even the more complex spells with just as much ease as I always have before. I worry about going into the village because it's starting to get noticeable. When I looked ancient people wouldn't question it, but now? I-”

 

He paused. He could have sworn the dragon had spoken, but then Kilgharrah hadn't spoken since he was alive, only hummed.

 

“I'm not sure how long I ca-”

 

There is was again. He hadn't imagined it, somebody was whispering his name.

 

 

“Who's there?” He asked cautiously.

 

_Do not be afraid Emrys, for we do not wish to harm you. We are the Sylph, spirits of the air._

Voices, many all speaking at once, a harmony of sound. Their words were almost lyrical, like the sound of the wind through grass and leaves, and the gentle rush of air whistling through a mountain pass.

 

Merlin frowned. “Sylph? It has been centuries since I've heard of your kind.”

 

_We are weak, and we are few. We wane. Not long ago human filth so clogged the sky that we all but died out. The air is no longer pure, we are struggling to rebuild._

 

The voices seemed to come from all around him, flitting from one place to another, never staying still. “I am sorry for your misfortune. Why do you speak to me now? Your kind aren't known for being all that sociable.”

 

_We are not, we dare not show ourselves even to you, oh great one, but we are scared. We beg of you, take us into your protection. Please._

 

“Protection? What do you need protecting from?”

 

_Can you not feel it coming?_

“What? What’s coming?”

_The Great Darkness._

 

Merlin stilled. The air swirled around him more frantically. “I … what Great Darkness?”

 

_It comes! Oh, it comes!_

 

“What is this Great Darkness? Tell me please! Tell me and you shall have my protection for as long as I can offer it.”

 

_The Great Darkness, oh kind Emrys, is true death. It comes for us all!_

 

With that the wind died down and Merlin found himself alone once again.

 

“Please! Come back! How can I protect you if I don't know what I'm supposed to be protecting you from?” He shouted into empty air. There was no reply. The words stuck in his throat as he tried to call after them again. What did they mean? What was coming? How could he stop it?

 

When he returned to the cottage Arthur was sat on the doorstep. Something tight and warm wrapped itself just a little more firmly around his chest, smothering the chill the Sylph's words had brought just a fraction.

 

“Arthur! I'm sorry, I went out for a walk. It took longer than I was expecting.” He fumbled to get the key out of his pocket, his hands numbed with the walk, and still trembling a little.

 

“It's okay.” Arthur said with a small smile, banishing the thoughts from his mind for a time. “Where do you go?”

 

Merlin paused, key half in the door. “Hmm?”

 

“When you go for your walks, you don't go down towards the lake, so where do you go?”

 

Turning back to the door he opened it with a shove. “To visit an old friend.”

 

His words were soft, but the meaning was clear enough. Arthur nodded and stepped inside after him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for my radio silence! I've been ill, got a new job, and had writers' block all at once! This chapter isn't very exciting, but to make up for it I'll be posting the next chapter early! Thank you all for being so patient with me!

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Snow had dusted the hilltops white, and at night Merlin could see the many-coloured glittering of Christmas lights in the village as he walked down towards it. It was only a small village but everyone took extra care to make the festivities something special. There were swathes of green, red and gold in every window, pine trees decked with tinsel and glistening baubles, and fat men in red coats lined with fur, their cheeks rosy and their grins wide and jolly. Merlin snorted incredulously. Everything about the way people celebrated this holiday was teeth-rottingly commercialised. He remembered when the jolly old man was wrapped in green, not red, and people used the holiday to light the darkest months, like a beacon of hope to keep them going until spring arrived, not just an excuse to spend inordinate amounts of money on one another. This time of year had become not something of hope, but of excess. The epitome of human greed. Even the Christian ideals that had overshadowed his people’s had become lost over the years. He sighed, walking hurriedly past the little café. It seemed strange going into the village without visiting Anna, but he couldn’t face her quite yet, not with his ageing spells failing the way they were. Fortunately he didn’t have time to dwell on that. The sylphs’ words rang cold and clear in his mind, and had shrouded his waking hours in a dark, foreboding shadow. He had to find out what they meant.

 

The library was decked with paper decorations, children’s drawings, and large, colourful posters of traditional Christmas book covers. As he wound his way through the various shelves, laden heavily with all sorts of books, from fiction to travel guides, Merlin could hear the vague hum of Christmas songs lilting through the room from some dilapidated FM radio. He could have sworn the section he was looking for was around here. He had rearranged the books enough himself to know that. The spines felt strange under his fingertips, covered in waxy plastic and gaudy coloured stickers.

 

“Can I help you?”

 

Merlin looked up. The young man from the counter was stood next to him, now fully grown with burgeoning crow’s feet nestled in the corners of his eyes. “Yes, you’ve moved things around. Where are your books on Celtic mythology nowadays?”

 

He smiled, the creases on his face deepening just a little. “Oh, well, there should be a section over by religions for pagan mythologies, next to the Greek and Roman books.” He gestured to a far corner of the room.

 

Merlin nodded and wandered over. The books were older than the ones he had been looking at before, some were cloth-bound underneath their plastic sleeves, and one or two were leather-bound, cracked with age, and embossed with faded gold letters. He slid a large anthology from the shelf and opened it. Leafing through it he found tales of Golden Pryderi, of Balor, the god of death, and of Bendigeidfran the giant king, but not a single mention of the Great Darkness. He read through the White Book of Rhydderch, the Red Book of Hergest, and Tírechán’s Collectanea, and still he found nothing useful. He even stumbled across a few depictions of his own life. It was strange how things became so warped with time.

 

“Find what you were looking for?” Said the man at the counter as Merlin walked solemnly away from the bookshelf.

 

Merlin shook his head. “No, actually. There was some information but nothing as detailed as I wanted.”

 

The man chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Well, you could try one of the nearby university’s libraries. Although you might need to get special permission for that, so you’ll probably be better off contacting one of the lecturers who specialises in that subject. They might even have some insight into the subject that you wouldn’t find in books anyway.”

 

“Thank you, David.” Merlin replied as he turned to leave.

 

The man’s smile faltered. “No problem. Sorry, do I know you?”

 

He felt his face drain of colour. Did he really look that different now? “No, no, I just heard your name around. Small town.”

 

David nodded, smiled again, and turned back to the pile of book on his left.

 

*

 

Merlin had left several messages with one Elaine Pritchard, professor of Celtic Mythology and Religion, to no avail. A week went by with nothing, until he returned from visiting Kilgharrah one evening.

 

“Emrys! Someone called for you!” Arthur shouted from his room as Merlin closed the front door behind him.

 

“Hmm?”

 

Arthur poked his head round the bedroom door. “Yeah, some woman from some uni returning a call, or five?”

 

Merlin felt the colour rise in his cheeks. Maybe he _had_ been a little over-zealous with his calls. He cleared his throat. “Ah, okay. What did she say?”

 

“Umm, the only time she has free is tomorrow morning, since she’s up here for business anyway, and she only has a couple of hours between meetings if you can get out to Bangor for it.”

 

“Bangor?”

 

“That’s what she said.” Arthur replied, closing the door as he did.

 

*

 

The morning was cold, his breath crystallising as he sighed, pushing open the door to _Enid’s_ , which opened with a jovial tinkle.

 

“Emrys?”

 

Merlin froze. He’d taken extra care with his appearance today, but he couldn’t hide what was going on. His ageing spells weren’t working, and his illusions took too much out of him to sustain for such a prolonged period of time. It was a little shameful for the greatest sorcerer who ever lived, but he had resorted to talcum powdering his beard, and shoving his long, dark hair under a woolly hat.

 

“Anna.” He replied with a nod.

 

She looked him up and down, her brow puckering pensively. “You look different.”

 

He fixed his gaze on the selection of festively frosted pastries and icing-dusted mince pies behind the counter. “Hmm?”

 

“Never mind. You’re in early today? Usual?” She said with a smile.

 

Merlin adjusted his hat nervously. “Actually I’d like it to go if you don’t mind, I’ve got a train to catch.”

 

 “A train?” She raised a brow. “Going anywhere special?”

 

“Just up to Bangor, I’m meeting someone.”

 

 “Meeting someone, eh.” Anna grinned at him and winked playfully.

 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Nothing like that. I just have some questions I want to ask them. Academic questions.”

 

Shrugging she turned to the coffee machine and began to heat the milk with a hiss of steam. “Academic? Okay. Good luck with that then.”

 

“Thank you.” He replied, staring intently once again at the gingerbread snowmen, staring at him tauntingly with their glazed black eyes.

 

She paused as she handed the coffee over to him. “You know, you _do_ look different, Emrys. Younger. I don't know how or why, but it's like you're ten years younger, no … it's more than that, I just can't put my finger on it.”

 

Merlin laughed it off nervously. “Thank you dear, I wish I felt it.”

 

“Honestly though, it's uncanny. You look younger than I am. What is it with you, old man?” She scrutinised his face for a moment before continuing. “Having Arthur around has brought something out in you just as much as it has him.”

 

“What's it brought out in him?”

 

“You haven't noticed that either? My, I always had you pegged for the perceptive sort, apparently not. Before you, Arthur always seemed … apathetic. He was pleasant enough, smiled at the customers, did his job, but he was dead behind the eyes. It was like he took no interest or joy in anything he did. Now … now he's cheeky, he back-chats, he flirts. There's something glittering there that wasn't there before. Then again, maybe it was, and he just needed someone to show him it was there all along.”

 

Merlin took the coffee from her and frowned. “I see.”

 

“Don’t look so glum, old man! Whatever it is it’s a good thing.”

 

*

 

The train journey was surprisingly relaxing. The gentle lull of the wheels on the tracks as the train sped through the Welsh countryside. The train line followed the river for a while, winding this way and that, the cold steel colour of the water rushing by in a blur, past small villages, much like Claddgell, their residents busying themselves with their morning routines, and through vast expanses of fields, some left fallow, others ploughed until the rich, dark earth lay in chunkily churned strips.

 

The station was small, but open and light, which struck Merlin as a good reflection of the city as a whole. It felt small, and yet simultaneously far bigger than anywhere Merlin had been in centuries. The building he was meeting the professor in was reminiscent of the old colleges he had seen being built during the seventeenth century, although maybe it was later, he wasn’t so sure any more. Either way, it was old enough now that the vines and creepers had twined themselves over the archways and up the walls, smothering the otherwise grey buildings in a cloak of deep evergreen.

 

“Ah, Mr. Jones!” Came a voice from up ahead. A dowdy woman in a faded beige blouse and brown skirt was making her way down the steps. Her long, dark curls were hastily pulled up into a messy bun piled atop her head. “I was just going to come looking for you, I hope you found the place alright. I’m Elaine.”

 

He reached out and shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m, uh … sorry about all the messages.”

 

Her eyes were a pale, watery blue, but they warmed as she smiled. “It’s no problem. I have to say, I was a little surprised when I got them. There aren’t many people outside of the field who have genuine academic interest in Welsh mythology, let alone any who would want to contact me to discuss it. So, what is it exactly that you wanted to talk about?”

 

He followed her inside the building, up a set of ornate wooden stairs, and into a large study. “Have you ever heard of anything called _The Great Darkness_?”

 

The professor frowned thoughtfully as she sat down, gesturing to the seat opposite her. Merlin obliged. “No, I can't say I have. It sounds like an end of days prediction. There aren’t many references to eschatology in Celtic mythology, unlike many religions and cultures. The Norse legends had Ragnarök, the Mayans their 13th b'ak'tun, but the only thing close to an apocalypse scenario would have been Morrígan's Prophecy at Mag Tuired.”

 

“Morrígan?” Where had he heard that name before?

 

“Yes, a prophet, daughter of Ernmas in Irish mythology, although she and Morgan le Fay of Arthurian legend are often considered one and the same. I personally think they entirely separate, as do many of the scholars I have discussed this with. If you look at the roots of their names… sorry, I digress. The translation of the prophesy goes something like this:

 

“ _I shall not see a world_  
 _Which will be dear to me_  
 _Summer without blossoms,_  
 _Cattle will be without milk,_  
 _Women without modesty,_  
 _Men without valour._  
 _Conquests without a king,_  
 _Woods without mast._  
 _Sea without produce,_  
 _False judgements of old men,_  
 _False precedents of lawyers._  
 _Every man a betrayer,_  
 _Every son a reaver._  
 _The son will go to the bed of his father,_  
 _The father will go to the bed of his son,_  
 _Each his brother's brother-in-law._  
 _He will not seek any woman outside his house._  
 _An evil time._  
 _Son will deceive his father,_  
 _Daughter will deceive_ … umm …” She paused, chewing on the end of her pen. “Daughter will … sorry, there’s more to it, but I can’t remember the rest of it off the top of my head.”

 

Merlin felt a shiver trickle down his spine. He leaned forward. “What’s the general consensus about what any of that actually means?”

 

“I’m not entirely sure there is one. Much like Greek, Roman, Mesopotamian, and Norse mythology, there are very few modern followers who are left to truly contemplate it, and since I’m not an eschatologist, I can’t say it’s something that I have thought a great deal on. Although, I do know someone who wrote a paper on it a while back. If you’re interested I could email you a copy?”

 

He swallowed thickly and nodded. “I would appreciate that. I have something else I was hoping that you might know something about.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“What do you know about _true death_?”

 

Elaine smiled. “Oh, now the true death is something that has been recorded in mythologies throughout the world. In Catholicism it refers to the death of the soul, and either its descent into Hell, or its acceptance into the Kingdom of Heaven. However, with regards to pagan religions, it often pertains to the final and complete death of beings that would otherwise be immortal.”

 

“Immortal.”

 

“Yes, mythologically speaking. If a being were immortal, they would be impervious to most things normally fatal to mortal beings. However in most tales the immortal beings have a weakness, some way in which they can be harmed. An Achilles heel, so to speak. If this is utilised the immortal being can be vanquished, never to return, therefore resulting in a true death.”

 

Merlin felt as though his chest had collapsed inwards. He had accepted his own fate, his immortality, this curse upon him, to watch all those he ever cared about to fade away and be forgotten by all but one. The time would come when so many people’s memories resided within him that it would drive him insane, and yet, this sudden revelation that there may be something to end it all for him, was not comforting. In fact it was terrifying. The Great Darkness, true death, combined. What did that mean for the world?

 

Elaine cocked her head to one side with concern. “Are you okay Mr. Jones? This was a long way to come for two obscure questions. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

 

Merlin tried to shake the feeling of dread that had snaked its way around him. “No, thank you. That was very helpful.”

 

“May I ask my own question?” Merlin nodded. “Why the urgency? I rarely have anyone who requires information on Celtic mythology with any time limit, unless it’s a student with an essay due the next day, but you do not strike me as a student Mr. Jones.”

 

 _Because mythological air spirits told me._ “Curiosity. And a lack of decent library books.”

 

She nodded, clearly not entirely convinced, but her watch distracted her. “I see. Well, it’s been a pleasure meeting you, but I’m afraid I have somewhere I need to be.”

 

Merlin stuck his hand out once again, and she took it gratefully. “Of course, thank you again.”

 

“Goodbye Mr. Jones!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the break between chapters. I had a bit of a nervous breakdown and I've had to take some time off work and uni (and writing unfortunately) but I'm feeling much better now and I hope I'll be able to keep to the schedule a little more from now on. Thank you, as ever, for your patience and support!

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Arthur had never really liked Christmas. He had wanted to, because what reason was there to dislike Christmas? There was food, lights, presents, friends and family gathered together for the first time in a year. Well, maybe that was a good enough reason to hate Christmas. He supposed that for people with families it was nice enough, but for those without it just served as a sore reminder that there was no one. Christmases in the homes were full of enthusiasm, but lacked any real spirit. It was just a bunch of broken kids thrown together for a half-hearted, budget dinner, and an overused VHS tape version of _A Christmas Carol_. Then there was this year. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Arthur was looking forward to Christmas. Emrys seemed like just the kind of eccentric old man to make a big deal about Christmas. The kind of guy who chopped down his own tree, and still left a minced pie, a carrot, and a glass of mulled wine by the chimney (and then probably just ate it all himself the next morning).

 

Anna had started decorating the café for Christmas before the end of November, tinsel, and wreaths, and little baubles everywhere. All the coffee had Christmas themes and flavours, and all the food was filled to the brim with cinnamon, cranberries, nutmeg, and ginger. It seemed that even though the days were getting shorter and the weather nastier, people were brighter the moment they walked through the door, their noses and cheeks pink with the cold. Arthur was feeling a little brighter too. It wasn’t often the darker months gave him any reason to feel cheerful, but this year was different. He was looking forward to spending the holiday with someone who cared.

 

“Emrys?” He called as he walked through the door, slinging his scarf around one of the pegs. There was no one in the house, and it was still looking decidedly bare for the time of year. There were bundles of dried fruit hanging up in the kitchen, but despite their fragrant decadence they didn’t appear to be there for any reason other than drying.

 

“Arthur?” Emrys poked his head round the front door. “I thought I saw you. I’ve just been tending to the hives a little. Things are getting too cold to leave them alone now.”

 

Arthur nodded. He frowned, glancing around the room. “Hey Emrys, are you one of those purist who refuses to put their tree up until Christmas Eve?”

 

Emrys paused, his gaze falling to the floor. “No, I don’t really do Christmas trees.”

 

“Who doesn’t do Christmas trees?” Arthur said in dismay. “Oh come on Emrys! We have to have a tree!”

 

Emrys’ lips thinned. “I've never liked the idea of killing a tree for the sake of an annual holiday. It seems a waste.”

 

This was ridiculous. It was just a goddamn tree. “A waste? But millions of people do it worldwide, how are _you_ going to make a difference?”

 

His guardian’s gaze darkened. “I don’t like to harm anything if I don’t have to, trees included.”

 

“So no tree, not even a potted one?”

 

“No. Now are you going to come and help me check the mouse guards?”

 

So much for a real Christmas. Sometimes Arthur wondered why he even bothered keeping his hopes up. It didn’t matter where he went or who he was with, he just had to take what he’d been given and try and be happy about it. And he had been so close to liking the churlish old sod. Well screw that, and screw him.

 

*

 

Merlin finished tying another set of dried oranges and hung them up with the others. The smell of drying fruit reminded him a lot of the castle kitchens in Camelot. There was always something hanging to dry; fruits, herbs, flowers, you name it, the kitchens had it. For some reason it was always his task to lift some for the Gwaine and Percival. Gwaine was particularly partial to dried apple, and was always after whatever he could get. Merlin smiled sadly. He missed them. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t miss them. He began threading a bundle of apple slices. For Gwaine.

 

There was a loud, anguished shout from Arthur’s room, followed by silence.

 

“Arthur?”

 

There was no reply.

 

Merlin put the apples down on the counter and walked tentatively towards Arthur’s room.

 

“Arthur, are you okay?”

 

He pushed the door open slowly. Arthur was curled up on the bed, his knees hugged closed to his chest, his breathing laboured. His skin was as pallid as sour milk, and there were beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. His eyes were glazed and staring at a vague point on the wall in front of him.

 

“Arthur! What's happened?”

 

Arthur’s eyes snapped upwards, his pale gaze betraying no emotion. “It's nothing.”

 

Merlin frowned and stepped into the room. “It didn't sound like nothing. I heard shouting. Did something break?”

 

“It's nothing I can't deal with myself. I'm not a child.” He replied, still watching Merlin warily.

 

Merlin glanced around the room. Nothing looked broken, there was no blood, no visible trauma of any kind. “Something obviously happened that rattled you. You look pale.”

 

Arthur pursed his lips, his jaw set in firm defiance. “It's none of your concern.”

 

“You're shaking.” He said, reaching out to place a steadying hand on the boy's shoulder.

 

Arthur shrugged it off. “Just drop it.”

 

“You’re not normally like this. What’s going on?” Merlin frowned. “I don't want you keeping secrets from me. I am your guardian, I have a right to know what's getting you into this state.”

 

“I said drop it!” He spat back. “I never asked for this, for you, or your prying questions! _Not normally like this_ … saying shit like that as if you know me. I turn eighteen next year, then I can get out of this godforsaken place. Maybe I'll find somewhere to live where people don't disappear off into the hills at a moment’s notice, whose age I can actually pinpoint instead of it changing every other day, and maybe I'll find someone who'll actually have a sodding Christmas tree at Christmas like normal people do!”

 

Merlin was taken aback.

 

Still visibly seething Arthur took a shaky breath before continuing. “You go on about not keeping secrets but I know you have far more to you than you're letting on. I'm not stupid you know! I know you're hiding something.”

 

“I know you're not stupid Arthur. There are things about me that you don't know, and in time, I'll tell you, it's just … difficult.”

 

Arthur’s glare was cold and bitter. There was a burgeoning sneer on his face, and a calculating look in his eyes.

 

“I had a seizure.”

 

Merlin froze. He could feel his heart skip a beat, all the warmth and colour draining from him. He felt sick.

 

“What?”

 

Arthur’s gaze narrowed. “The anti-psychotics I'm on sometimes give me seizures. I'm just angry because I thought they'd stopped. Obviously I was wrong.”

 

“Arthur...” Merlin began, reaching a hand out again.

 

Arthur flinched away. “I don't want your pity.” He snarled.

 

“This isn't pity. This is concern.”

 

Hugging his legs tighter to his chest, his eyes returned to the seemingly nondescript point on the wall. “It's not massive or anything, it's not like I passed out, I just lose control of my body for a little while. It was scary when it first happened, and it doesn't happen often or anything, it just hasn't happened for a while so I wasn't really ready for it.”

 

Merlin balked. “Nobody told me about this, surely that's something Dr. Bennett would have mentioned, or your social workers...”

 

Arthur’s brows knit in confusion. “Normally you have a week of seizure training, after the safeguarding talks. Didn't you have that?”

 

Merlin felt the bile rise in his throat. Of course he didn't, if he had done everything properly, if he hadn't been so impatient, then he'd have known. He had no training, no talks, nothing. He was so grossly unprepared for this and it was entirely his own fault.

 

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Arthur.” He choked on his name. How could he have been this selfish?

 

Arthur was looking at Merlin with barely veiled curiosity. His anger had burnt away, replaced with a calculating concern. “Don't worry about it. I'm going to take a nap, I'm tired.”

 

“Of course.” He replied, swallowing the lump in his throat.

 

He felt dizzy with nausea. His mind was racing as much as his heart. This was his fault. He wasn’t qualified for this, he wasn’t prepared. How could he ever have thought that he could look after a child? Arthur may be on the verge of adulthood, but he had issues and needs that had to be catered for, _should_ have been catered for, and would have been if Merlin had been a half competent guardian. He had failed to care for Arthur the first time, and he was failing again.

 

Merlin stumbled out of the front door. He had to get away. Snow was falling in fat, heavy flakes outside, melting as they touched his skin, melding with the frantic tears streaming down his cheeks. His chest was tight, he could barely breath for the knot under his breastbone. He tried to run, wading gracelessly through the snow, his feet tripping and faltering beneath him. He ran until he could barely stand, bracing himself on one of the damson trees.

 

This was his fault.

 

He collapsed to the ground under the tree. What was he doing? What had he been thinking? He let out a cry, filled with frustration, regret, and grief. Instead of helping Arthur, he was just causing him more pain. He should just leave, then maybe Arthur could get a family who actually bothered going to the training. That’s what Arthur needed; a family. Not some decrepit old man in some cottage in the middle of nowhere. If he left now, he could call someone in the morning. Arthur could be with someone new by Christmas. But what good would that do? Arthur said that he wanted to find someone who didn’t disappear at a moment’s notice. If he left now it would just cement that in his mind. It would hurt him even more to be abandoned again. Merlin knew he wasn’t irresponsible, or at least, he tried not to be. How could he make it up to him? He could go to that training, that would definitely help, but that wouldn’t make much of a difference now.

 

Merlin sighed, resting his head on the trunk of the tree. The clouds were dissipating above him, stars just barely visible through the branches above him. Merlin sat up. That gave him an idea.

 

*

Arthur stared up at the ceiling. Here was an odd pattern to the plaster, liked badly whipped cream. He had been so sure that the seizures had stopped. Then again he had been so sure that this was going be the home he had always wanted. He had tried not to become attached, but as hard as he tried, he had grown fond of the old man. He didn’t let it show, obviously. He couldn’t have him knowing that he meant anything to him. Boy was he glad he’d decided to keep his cards close to his chest. Today would have hurt far more if he’d trusted the guy. He rolled over on his side. His suitcases and bags were beside his bed. He’d been living out of them for months, refusing to unpack properly. He never stayed long enough for that to be necessary, as soon as he’d unpacked, he’d be packing them up again. With his seizures gone he’d hoped that he might get to unpack, but now they were back, and Emrys was freaking out about them, he might as well leave them be. Of course Emrys would freak out, the guy had been so good until now, there had to be something wrong with him. That was the way of the world.

 

There was a gentle rapping at his door. “I’m not going to come in, but if you could come outside for a second I’d really appreciate it.”

 

Arthur huffed out a bitter laugh. “It's cold and dark, I'm fine in here thanks.”

 

There was a moment of silence before Emrys spoke again. “Please Arthur, I've got something to show you.”

He sighed and sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and padding out of his room. Emrys was wrapped up in his biggest coat, with his customary hat and scarf on as well.

 

“Put something warm on, it’s been snowing.”

 

Emrys couldn’t meet his eye, but gestured towards the door. Arthur grabbed his coat and scarf from the hook, and slipped into his boots, before reluctantly following Emrys out into the cold. The snow crunched pleasantly under his wellies as they continued into the dark. There was something odd in the distance, but Arthur couldn’t quite see it yet. It was a sort of bright glow. The closer they got the more distinct it became. In front of him was the damson orchard, but unlike he had ever seen it before. The once bare trees were draped in tiny lights that glowed blue-white, drenching the orchard in phosphorescent light. The snow on the ground and on the trees looked virgin, glittering and untouched by feet of any kind. Crystal icicles glistened, dripping from the branches, and the whole garden looked as though it had been dusted with stars.

 

Arthur's jaw was slack. “This is ...”

 

“I know it's not your usual fir tree, and I didn't have any baubles or tinsel, but I thought it might make up for earlier. I'm sorry I was so grouchy, I've just never had to do this before.” Emrys said, scratching the nape of his neck.

 

“It's incredible.” he breathed, stepping gingerly towards the nearest tree. The snow creaked and crunched under his weight, leaving perfect footprints behind him. Walking under the boughs was like stepping into another world, a world filled with starlight. He reached out to touch an icicle, only to recoil at the wet, cold touch. “It's real ice! Emrys, how on earth did you do this?”

 

Emrys' gaze finally met his own. Arthur felt his breath catch in his throat. His face was bathed in the pale glow from the trees, the light emphasising his sharp cheekbones, and the glimmer of silver in his eyes. He looked almost ethereal. For a moment the years seemed to melt away, his face youthful, and smile soft. “I have a knack for these kinds of things.”

 

Blinking, Arthur found the man in front of him was old again, although not as old as he had remembered, in fact he barely looked middle-aged any more. There were still lines on his forehead, and around his eyes and mouth, but his hair was dark, and his step was lighter. There was something about this man that Arthur couldn’t work out. Something almost magic.

 

“I used to love festivities.” Emrys said, joining him under the glow of the largest damson tree. “Everything was so bright, so full of life. We’d get time off work to go and see the Mummers play, and there were holly wreaths, and pine garlands round every corner. And no matter where you went it smelled of boiled venison and sweet frumenty.” Emrys smudged some burgeoning tears from his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I’m so sorry. Until you came along I had no idea how lost I’d become.”

 

Arthur was speechless. Only minutes ago he had been sure that this man was no good, that he was just useless like every other foster carer he had ever had. Now, underneath this artificial starlight, he had taken on an entirely different persona.

 

“I’ve decided to get a tree.” Emrys said, his breath billowing into a delicate cloud in front of him. “It’ll be potted, and I want to plant it in the garden afterwards, but we can decorate it outside next year, when it’s grown a little.”

 

“Next year?”

 

Emrys frowned. “Yes. Next year.”

 

Arthur’s heart was in his mouth. “You still want me here next year?”

 

The man smiled sadly. “I know you turn eighteen next year, and I know you want to leave, but you are welcome here for as long as you want. I won’t make you stay, but I just want you to know that you’ll always have a home here, no matter how long you’re gone.”

 

He didn’t know what to say. He had never heard that from anyone before. He had always been unwanted, a burden. But Emrys sounded so sincere.

 

“Thank you.” He murmured.

 

That evening Arthur pulled his pyjamas from their new drawer and allowed himself a private smile.


	8. Chapter 8

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Spring was just beginning to nose its way into the world. The garden had filled with snowdrops, daffodils, anemones, and speedwell. The gorse bushes had painted the hedgerows a sunny yellow, and the hills were sprinkled with smatterings of white whitlowgrass. Everything was becoming just that little bit brighter, and Arthur was loath to admit that he liked it that way.

 

He had managed to maintain the gentle, broken child act, while retaining his bitter, hard heart, and yet somehow, week by week, it was becoming less of an act. He found himself wanting to do things around the house, thanking Emrys for things genuinely, and with no prompting. He had even made a sharp witted comment the other day that had made Emrys laugh out loud, and his laughter was practically infectious. It had been a long time since he had laughed genuinely and wholeheartedly. He found himself smiling every day, not all the time, but even when he was on his own he felt the gentle tugging on the corners of his mouth. He had become so used to the act that he’d almost forgotten what it was like just to be himself. It was liberating. A little too liberating. He found himself having to reel it in, almost spilling secrets about himself that he had told no one else. Emrys had somehow made Arthur trust him, and Arthur was at a loss as to how he had managed it. He hadn’t had another seizure for months, but regardless of that Emrys had gone to classes, extra training and first aid tailored to treating seizures. He had kept his promise about the tree, which now stood, growing taller every month, by the side of the house.

 

Anna had him working every week day now, and since it had started to get light before he arrived at work, it was becoming a little more pleasurable.

 

“Good morning love!” Anna said with a smile as the bell on the door tinkled lightly.

 

Arthur smiled back. “Good morning Anna.”

 

She paused looking him up and down discerningly. “You look brighter today, any reason?”

 

“Nah, just days getting longer and lighter I guess.”

 

Her smile was soft and fond. “Yeah, I know that feeling. How’s the old man? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

 

Emrys had been reluctant to go anywhere beyond the front gate for nearly three months. His beard was still flecked with grey, but there wasn’t a single strand left in his long, dark hair. He looked younger than Anna now, but tried to hide it from him as though wearing a beanie would somehow prevent him from noticing. Arthur thought about the spindly old man, back arched and face as creased as old leather, whose house he had been ceremoniously dumped in over half a year before. It was hard to believe that this Emrys and that one were the same person. There were times when Arthur refused to believe it, people didn’t just age backwards, that wasn’t how the world worked. Yet there he was, decked in the same outdated clothes, layer upon layer of plaid and rough wool, still tending the hives, and digging the vegetables, as though nothing had changed. Arthur had never met him before that day in the coffee shop, and yet there was something stirring in the back of his mind, something about those eyes that he couldn’t place. He was an enigma, and one that Arthur was determined to unravel one way or another.

 

“Yeah the winter hit him pretty hard, he’s still a bit under the weather.”

 

Anna nodded, placing a hand on his arm. “Well send him my love. I’ll maybe try and pop up to see him when I can.”

 

“I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”

 

They weren’t friends, and they certainly weren’t family, but Arthur couldn’t shake the guy. He hated that he trusted him without knowing a thing about him. And he really _did_ trust him, that was the most terrifying thing. He had books on the bookshelf, clothes in the draws, and his toothbrush no longer lived in a toiletry bag, it sat happily alongside Emrys’ in the bathroom. He had tried so hard, and he still refused to start up a conversation, but he couldn’t bring himself not to continue one if Emrys started it. He was quirky, but the guy was interesting, and even though he didn’t really know him, you could tell he had a big heart, as fractured as it might be. Every time he talked about his passions his face lit up and he would ramble on until all Arthur could do was laugh. Then he’d flush bright red and go quiet. But he wasn’t always bashful, he was snarky and sharp-tongued, not to mention quick witted. He seemed to find great pleasure in trading insults, the more elaborate the insult the better, and Arthur found himself enjoying it too. He wouldn’t mind this closeness that they had been growing towards if he really _knew_ him. He was at a disadvantage, and Arthur hated being at a disadvantage.

 

*

The house was empty when he returned from work. Perfect. He knew all the places in the house that required keys, and all the spots best for hiding things, but knowing Emrys, there would be closets even more secretive for his most elusive skeletons.

 

He checked all of the coats and usual draws for any keys that didn’t fit the known locks, but to no avail. He rifled through the clothes drawers, checking under jumpers and socks for hidden things. Again, nothing. Then he checked the old chest. It took some tweaking with a hair pin to get it open, but then what was the use of being passed around care homes and hospitals if you didn’t learn a few escape tricks. The chest was full of old junk, but none of it seemed interesting in any way. He delved in deeper until he could feel the bottom. It wasn’t very deep, and it certainly wasn’t very interesting. He slapped the base of the chest with frustration.

 

What was that?

 

He tapped it again. There was a hollow sound, not what you’d expect from a chest of that size. Then it dawned on him. It had a false bottom. Arthur felt his heart soar. Fumbling around he managed to find a catch, but it seemed to be jammed somehow. It didn’t feel like there was any keyhole, but it was jammed shut. He threw some of the junk from the chest until he could see the bottom. It was made of the same wood as the rest of chest, but was carved with two Celtic dragons, intricately intertwined. There didn’t seem to be any way of opening it. Maybe he had been wrong, maybe there was no false bottom to it. But if there wasn’t, then why the carvings, why the hollow sound.

 

_Come on Arthur, you’re better than this._

There was a sudden pop, like a catch releasing, and the base opened up under his hand.

 

Inside were bundles of letters. They were old, older that Arthur thought possible, ochre, and crumbling a little at the edges. It was a miracle that they were still intact. They were covered, front and back in spidery black letters. The handwriting was barely legible, and the language was strange. It wasn’t English, and it wasn’t German, but it was somewhere in between. What was most disturbing though, was that Arthur had no trouble reading it at all. They spoke about endless things, crops, and markets, and kitchen gossip, all seemingly mundane, every one addressed to “ _my dear boy_ ”, and signed with increasing desperation each time. It was as though, despite their number, not a single one had got a reply. After a time the writing changed to a flowing, lilting script. Whoever had written the letters before had passed away, and this new writer had continued where the last had left off. These letters were different, they spoke of wars, skirmishes, banquets, but also of children and absent friends, always addressed to “ _my dearest friend_ ”. Soon that writer too passed away, the only indication of this a short letter.

 

_To my mother’s dearest friend,_

_I write to you with grave news. As of yesterday morning my mother is no longer of this earth. I know that she wrote to you religiously, despite receiving not a single reply. I like to believe that her passing would cause you great pain, though only because then I would know that she meant to you at least a part of what you meant to her. I hope that this reaches you before you discover this loss through other means. This should have been mine by rights, but I know that she would have wanted you to have it, if you are who I think you are. I hope it brings you some peace._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Glywys_

 

Whatever it was that accompanied the letter was no longer there. Arthur wondered what it was, but then, these letters had left more than a few burning questions. If these were for Emrys, how old would that make him? Were they just family heirlooms perhaps? If so, then who were these people, and why did they mean so much to Emrys that he kept the letters in a secret drawer? For two of them to have passed away, after speaking so much about mutual friends and acquaintances that had also passed away, he really wasn’t lying about losing people he cared about. But if he cared so much about them, why did he never reply? Instead of giving him answers all this had done was overload him with more questions. He had never felt farther from the truth.

 

“What in Arawn’s name do you think you’re doing?”

 

Arthur’s head shot up. Stood in the doorway was Emrys, tight lipped, with a pale rage burning in his face.

 

“Shit! Emrys! I … I was, I didn’t mean to … I didn’t kno-“

 

“How dare you!” He shouted, voice as dark as thunder. “How dare you violate my personal belongings! You had no right!”

 

It felt as though the room was growing darker, and Emrys a little taller. He loomed over him, his eyes, flickering with copper flames, fixed on the letters.

 

Arthur’s heart was hammering, he had never seen the man like this, usually so calm and stoic. The air was hard to breathe, heavy and static enough to put his hairs on end. He tasted copper and ozone on his tongue. “I didn’t realise… I’m sorry! If you didn’t keep things from me, if you were honest like you keep telling me to be then I wouldn’t have looked in the first place!” He said defiantly, hiding the tremor in his voice.

 

And with that, Emrys deflated, all the anger drained from him, as though it had never been there in the first place. He looked tired. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted, it’s just that there are certain things that are very precious to me, memories, relics of people I’ve lost, and of times I’ll never get back.”

 

“I know. I get that now. I’m sorry.”

 

He picked up the pages gingerly, before turning to leave. “I’m going for a walk. You should get some sleep.”

 

“Yeah. Sure.” Arthur said, defeated. “I … I hope you can forgive me.”

 

Emrys said nothing.

 

Arthur fled into his room, scared even to breathe until he heard the front door close firmly. He felt a guilt ridden tear spill from the corner of his eye. He brushed it away hurriedly with the heel of his hand. He didn’t cry. He never cried. So why did he feel like his throat was raw and constricted, and his eyes stinging, vision blurring? He curled up on the bed and pulled the covers over his head.

 

_Flames danced all around, they burned as they licked up his legs and arms, he was screaming but there was no sound. In front of him, tied to a stake was a young man, his dark hair was singed and smoking at the tips, his pale skin melted and scorched. As he screamed, a hellish, piercing sound, his skin began to blacken and flake, peeling away from his face to reveal bleeding sores. The only discernible feature about the poor creature in front of him was its eyes. One moment a stormy blue, the next a liquid gold. They were pleading with him, blood gurgled from its dry, cracked lips as it spoke._

 

“ _A … Arth … thurrrr_ ”

 

No …

 

“ _Arrr ...th … thur_ _… h… help me…_ ”

 

NO!

 

*

 

Merlin woke to screaming. He had screamed and ranted at Kilgharrah until his voice went hoarse. He had cried, bawling like he hadn’t done since he was a child, over letters he had had hidden for decades. He resented Arthur for bringing it all back so abruptly and so painfully, but he couldn’t bring himself to blame him.

 

“NO!”

 

He sat bolt upright. It was coming from the back room, from Arthur.

 

“MERLIN!”

 

He froze. It had been so long since anyone had said his name. Another scream shook him from his stupor and he rushed to the bedroom.

 

Arthur was writhing in the bed, drenched with sweat and screaming. Merlin held his shoulders and shook him, hard. Arthur’s eyes shot open, they were wild and confused, tears spilling down his cheeks.

  
“Arthur! Wake up! It was only a dream.”

 

Arthur screams abated to choked sobs, his body shuddering with them. “He was dying. I saw him dying. I _knew_ him, but there was nothing I could do.”

 

Merlin hesitated for a second, and no longer, gathering him into his arms. Arthur clung to him, crying until there was nothing left in him.

 

“Can you get back to sleep?” He asked quietly. Arthur shook his head. “Okay, you stay here, I'll be back in a few minutes. I'll just be in the next room.”

 

He nodded, shaking mutely as Merlin rose and made his way to the kitchen. Arthur curled his legs up close to his chest and listened to the sounds of pans clattering. It was oddly comforting.

 

When Merlin returned he had in his hands two mugs of steaming liquid. He handed one to Arthur and perched himself on the end of the bed. Arthur took the mug gratefully and cradled it in his hands.

 

“Night terrors, huh?”

 

Arthur nodded.

 

“Get them often? This why you don't sleep?”

 

He nodded again before taking a sip from his mug. It was sweet and spicy, but not unpleasant. It tingled on his tongue and warmed him through as it went down. He frowned at it. “What is this?”

 

Merlin smiled. “Honey and ginger hot chocolate. Certain to warm you through and calm you down. It's the only thing that worked for me when I used to wake up like that.”

 

Arthur stopped mid sip. “You used to have night terrors?”

 

Merlin nodded. “Still do, but fewer now than I did before.”

 

“Why?”

 

He stared silently into his mug.

 

“Sorry, I know I overstepped the mark today, I didn't mean to pry...”

 

Merlin shook his head. “No, no, it's okay. There are some things in life that should remain secret. This is not one of them, and neither was that, but that’s a different matter.” He sighed, shifting the mug in his hands. “I've lived a very long life, and not all of it has been easy. I have loved a great many people in my time, and have lost almost every one of them. Sometimes I wonder if I had tried harder some of them might not have died when they did. Men I fought beside, lived beside, all gone now. My family, my friends … anyway, that's enough of my ramblings for tonight I think.”

 

Arthur frowned into his now empty cup pensively. “They tell me that I have them because of my dad.”

 

Merlin looked up. Arthur was still curled up, but his posture had relaxed a little. He couldn't meet Merlin's gaze, but he carried on.

 

“They say that everything is to do with my parents, but I think there's more to it than that.” He glanced up for a moment. “Do you believe in psychics?” Merlin frowned, but Arthur continued. “I don't blame you if you don't, most people don't, but sometimes I wonder if these nightmares, and the episodes I have aren't something more supernatural.”

 

“What makes you think that?” Merlin said quietly. His heart had begun to beat erratically in his chest, and it took a concerted effort to slow his breathing.

 

“I … I remember things. Memories that are mine, but they never happened, if you know what I mean. Of course you don't know what I mean … umm … shit, sorry, I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

 

Merlin frowned. “If you don’t want to tell me, then it’s fine, but if you want to talk, you know I’m always here to listen.”

 

Arthur eyed him warily, nodding slowly as he did. “It's like … I remember having a sister, she was beautiful, and terrifying, but I know that she can't exist. So why do I know her so well? I remember a castle with turrets and parapets and halls with ceilings so high … but I've never been to castle before, so why do I have memories of one? It wasn't even a ruined castle, it was bright with candles, and red banners embroidered with golden dragons.”

 

Merlin looked at him. Perhaps it was the light, or the lateness of the hour, but the planes of his face looked sharper, he looked older, less like the boy he had just had cradled in his arms, and more like the man Merlin had once called King.

 

“And there's a boy.” Arthur continued. “I see him everywhere. Every time I close my eyes, he's there. When I was little he used to seem so grown up, but the older I get the more I realise that he's just as young as I am, if not younger. He's got this lopsided smile, and bright eyes, and these goofy ears...” Arthur smiled wistfully. “I … he's always laughing or smiling when I see him, and when I'm with him, it feels like home.”

 

The feeling that had been worming its way around Merlin's chest tightened painfully.

 

“It sounds stupid when I say it out loud, and it's a good thing you think I'm crazy already otherwise you'd have me carted off right now, but he's special to me. I don't know how, and I don't even know if he's real, but there's something about him …” Arthur laughed softly to himself. “I remember when I was younger I used to dream about him so much that I ended up with this huge crush on him...” He stopped suddenly, glancing cautiously across at Merlin. “Umm … sorry … you don't have a problem with that, do you? Me being … not straight, I mean.”

 

Merlin gaped a little but shook his head. “No, I don't.”

 

Arthur visibly relaxed. “Good. I mean, I like girls as well, I think. I've never had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend for that matter, but I think that everyone I meet is beautiful in their own way. It doesn't matter if they're pretty on the outside, well, it does, but there's always something about a person that makes them shine, and when a person shines, _that's_ what makes them beautiful.”

 

Merlin felt his heart thud, once, twice, three times, heavily and painfully in his chest. It was so unlike Arthur. _His_ Arthur. And yet, if his Arthur had grown up without the entitlement and the wealth, Merlin could easily see this side of him. This Arthur was not his Arthur, he was kinder, and broken in so many more ways, but perhaps someone who had seen the darker things in life, and only come out … gentler, would make a better leader in the end. He looked at the young man in front of him, watery morning light just seeping in through the cracks in the curtains. Yes, perhaps this Arthur would be an even greater king than he had been before.

 

“Anyway, I'm sorry for keeping you up. It's almost dawn.” Arthur said sheepishly. “I really am sorry for earlier.”

 

Nodding, Merlin stood up. “I know. Do you think that you can get some sleep now?”

 

“Yeah, actually. This stuff is great. Thank you.” He said, handing the cup to Merlin. “Really though, thank you. I’ve never told anyone that before, and I’m not going to lie, I’m shit scared that you’ll call the doctors and get me committed again, but I still trust you, even though it may not seem like it. Especially given that I’ve given _you_ no reason to trust _me_.”

 

Merlin shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. You might have pried into my personal affairs, opened up old wounds that I thought were long since healed. I was wrong, apparently. But if I’m honest, you had every right to. You keep this, my changing, a secret when you could just as easily tell the world. I … it’s not that I don’t trust you, I just don’t really know what’s happening myself. When I work it all out, I’ll tell you. I promise.”

 

He closed the door quietly behind him, and made his way back to bed. He ran a thumb gently over the pattern in the metal by his chest. Nothing was like it was supposed to be, nothing was as he had imagined. The best-made plans of mice and men, huh. What of warlocks and kings? When their plans went astray, even the gods couldn’t help, so where did that leave them?


	9. Chapter 9

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The cauliflower and broccoli were blooming, and the rhubarb was tall, thick and red. The damson blossom had all gone now, replaced with small, hard, green fruit, and the bees were busying themselves in the warmth of the early summer sun. Since the incident with the letters, Merlin had found his and Arthur’s relationship had cooled somewhat, and yet at the same time it seemed easier. They didn’t talk so much, or laugh, but there was a contentment between them. It was almost like they didn’t need to talk or joke, because just being in each other’s company, with the knowledge they each now held. For the first time since they had met they seemed to be on common ground. Merlin had stopped hiding his de-ageing, now that his beard was all dark once more, and his eyes only really creased when he smiled. Arthur was more open as well. He helped around the house without being asked, sometimes he’d talk about his past off the cuff, no prompting required. The secrets that had been choking them seemed less restricting now that they held each other’s as well.

 

Life was quiet for once. But despite that, Merlin didn’t feel at peace. Elaine Pritchard had sent him the paper, and the more of it he read, the more worried he became. It spoke about the cyclic apocalypse, that like the cycles of the seasons, and of day and night, the world as it was had to end for another to begin. This was the most comforting conclusion, but it still involved too much death and destruction for Merlin to fathom. However it also spoke of Rapture, of the Hopi predictions of the land littered with stone rivers, and the heavens falling from the sky, and, most disturbingly, the obscure Celtic notion of the true death of the planet; a state from which no gods or spirits of the Earth could rejuvenate it. The broken cycle. It spoke of murder and incest, of barren lands and barren women, of deceit, betrayal, and eternal darkness.

 

A great darkness.

 

He looked up at the clouds meandering lazily through the sky, he felt the wind on his skin, and the smell of tilled earth from under his boots. He had seen many things in his life, but life had always survived. There had always been water that replenished, falling like a blessing from the sky, and plants, stubborn weeds that weathered even the harshest of climates. Life never just gave up, and he refused to believe that even this Great Darkness could extinguish that.

 

He had tried to contact the Sylph again, but since he had offered his protection, they had been silent. He only hoped that it was a promise he could keep. But how could he protect them if he didn’t know what he was protecting them from? How could he protect anyone? He looked over at Arthur, gently pulling the rhubarb from their bases, and filling his basket with the plump stalks. He couldn’t watch him die again. This time he wouldn’t fail. Arthur glanced up, catching his eye. He raised a brow and smirked.

 

“Have I got dirt on my face again?”

 

Merlin smiled and shook his head.

 

“Huh,” he said, walking over. “Because you do.”

 

With that Arthur smeared an earthy hand down Merlin’s face. “Much better.”

 

He smirked and walked back to the rhubarb. Merlin felt the ghost of a smile on the gentle curve of his lips as he reached up to touch his face. Arthur was becoming more like the Arthur he remembered with each passing day. He was more confident, brasher, and more alive. The funny thing was that _he_ was becoming more like the Merlin Arthur would remember as well. He worried constantly that something would tip him off, but then that would save him the explanation. He was younger now than he had been in millennia, and if it weren’t for the hair and the beard, he would barely look any different than he had been the day Arthur had died. He brushed the dirt from his face with the flat of his hand. Everything was changing, more than it had done before. For once the landscape was constant, and _he_ was the one who was changing. It hadn’t been that way for a long time, and Merlin wasn’t entirely sure he liked it.

 

The sink was filled with muddy water and flecks of dirt, but the rhubarb he had been washing was now glistening red, and ready to cook with. He let the plug out, the water draining with a gurgle, and rinsing the sides clean when Arthur poked his head round the door.

 

“Emrys! We have a bit of a problem.”

 

Merlin raised a brow, shook the excess water from his hands, and followed him outside. He led him down past the vegetable garden, and into the orchard, now deep green with summer leaves, and laden with pale, unripe fruit. Arthur paused, beckoning Merlin over. He nodded towards the fence in front of them. Standing at the edge of the orchard, past a broken section of wire and wood, was a bull. It was hulking, with great masses of muscle, lumpy and knotted under its thick hide. It was pawing at the ground agitatedly with one hoof.

 

“Ah.”

 

“What’s it doing here?” Arthur hissed.

 

Merlin gestured for him to be quiet. “There are plenty of farms around here, I’m sure he just escaped, got a bit lost, fancied some fruit or something, you know?”

 

Arthur chewed his lip, eyeing up the bull. “Do you think he’s dangerous?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Arthur took off his jacket slowly, holding it out in front of him, and stepped towards it.

 

Merlin balked. “What are you doing?!”

 

“Hey there you ugly thing.” He murmured, inching closer to the bull. “Wow, you reek something fierce.” He shook his coat out as large as it would go and carried on towards it.

 

The bull’s head shot up, looking Arthur straight in the eye. He froze. They stared at one another for a moment, no sound but the panicked thud of Arthur’s heart echoing in his ears.

 

The bull stepped forwards.

 

Arthur stepped back.

 

The bull took another few steps before charging towards him.

 

Merlin grabbed Arthur’s shirt and yanked him backwards.

 

“Run!”

 

The bull chased them through the orchard, crashing through the spindly fence that led to the fallow land to the side of the house and down into the valley below. They ran down the hill laughing and shrieking as they went, the rhythmic thud of hooves growing closer with every minute. They ran and ran, hopping fences, scrabbling through hedgerows, and stumbling through muddy brooks.

 

“You’re such an idiot.” Merlin panted as they began to slow, sure that they weren’t being chased any more.

 

Arthur shot him an offended look. “What? How am _I_ the idiot here?”

 

Merlin leant over his knees to catch his breath. “You provoked it!”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yes, you!”

 

“I don’t think cattle understand insults! I was trying to scare it away, make myself look big, like they do in America with bears and bin bags. Besides, you were the one who started running! Never run, they always charge!” Arthur replied incredulously.

 

Merlin rolled his eyes and gestured around them. “Well now we’re in the middle of nowhere!”

 

“Good thing the weather’s nice.” Arthur said, his tone laced thickly with sarcasm as he nodded towards the heavy rainclouds above them.

 

He frowned, ignoring the jibe. “Looks like a thunderstorm.”

 

As if confirming his statement, a rumble of thunder rolled towards them. He wasn’t sure when the sky had got so dark, but it had shrouded the hills in a strange twilight. The first drops of rain began to pepper the ground around them, steadily falling faster and harder. Merlin looked around to see a large ash tree on the brow of the nearest hill.

 

“We can take shelter over there.” He called through the sound of the rain.

 

There was a crack of lightning, followed by a roar of thunder.

 

“We can’t hide under a tree in a lightning storm!” Arthur shouted.

 

Normal people couldn’t hide under a tree in a lightning storm, but Merlin wasn’t a normal person. The tree was beckoning him to come, offering shelter in return for protection from the fierce electrical storm. That was a fair trade in his opinion.

 

“Trust me.”

 

Arthur paused momentarily, shaking his head in dismay before following after him, rain beating down on them in torrents now. The tree was thick and green with foliage, barely a drop getting to the ground underneath. Merlin smiled, placing a grateful hand on the tree. It would live to see another storm, and hundreds more after that. He felt the hum of contented dryads, sighing as one. It filled him with joy to see the world so full of life.

 

“Emrys.”

 

Merlin turned around. Arthur was running a hand through his wet hair distractedly.

 

“Look, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say for a while now … I know I’ve been difficult, and I honestly have no idea how you put up with it as well as you did, but I wanted to apologise.”

 

Merlin frowned. “For what?”

 

Arthur leant against the tree beside him, avoiding meeting his gaze. “For acting like a twat. I pushed you away when all you’ve ever shown me is kindness.”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

Exasperated, he turned to Merlin, scrubbing a hand down his face. “But it’s not. I wanted to keep my distance, not get too attached, because everyone always leaves in the end.”

 

“Arthur…”

 

“No, let me finish. I know that you aren’t going to leave me, which I still find hard to accept, but what I find harder to accept is that I don’t want you to.” He took a steadying breath. “I … I’ve never been this close to anyone in my life. I’ve never told anyone about my dreams, not since I was little, and I’ve never let my guard down. I’m not exactly a social butterfly, but the way I was with you, the way I am with everyone, that isn’t me. This is me.” His gaze lingered on the rain falling in front of them. He sighed. “Being able to be myself around someone is like being able to breathe again. I don’t feel like I have to pretend to be a recluse to get some space. We just kind of fit into each other’s lives. It was weird at first, but I feel so comfortable. I don’t know how it explain it. It’s like we’re two parts of a whole.” The tips of his ears flushed pink. “I mean, not like … umm … you’re not really like my guardian any more. You’re kind of my best friend.”

 

Merlin was speechless. His heart felt like it was beating erratically. “I…”

 

Arthur groaned and turned away. “God, I knew it was stupid. Sorry, forget about it.”

 

“No, no Arthur, please don’t ever apologise for that.”

 

He looked back over his shoulder at his guardian. “Okay. But, don’t mention it to me again. That was kind of embarrassing to admit.”

 

Merlin beamed, nudging Arthur playfully. Arthur smiled back, looking out at the rain, still falling hard and fast. He shifted awkwardly. “I thought the rain always stopped after heart to hearts. It does in the films. Now I’m stuck here after saying something horribly embarrassing, waiting for the rain to stop.”

 

Merlin laughed, grabbed Arthur’s arm, and ran out into the rain.

 

*

 

When they had got home they were both soaked to the skin, their faces ruddy, and their cheeks aching from laughing. The knot in Arthur’s chest had loosened a little, but Emrys’ reply had left him feeling a little uncomfortable. His touch still lingered on his arm, and an entirely different feeling had settled over his heart. They had dried off as best they could and had sat down on the sofa with a couple of hot chocolates to watch one film or another. He looked down at Emrys, breathing softly, head rested gently against his shoulder. Well, they hadn’t made it that far. Arthur brushed a dark curl of hair from Emrys’ brow. He didn’t look old any more, he barely looked older than Arthur himself, in his early thirties at the most, and even younger asleep like this. Arthur wouldn’t go prying into his life again, he had made a promise to himself that he would curb that curiosity, but the question was still here, niggling away at him. What kind of condition did he have to grow younger like that, and so quickly as well? What was it about this man that made him trust him, that felt like home?

 

Arthur rested his head tentatively on top of Emrys’ and closed his eyes. The more he thought about it, the more he found he didn’t care.


	10. Chapter 10

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Summers were never as warm or as blue skied as the stories always said. Arthur had always thought that British Summers never quite lived up to the hype. There was always rain, grey skies, and it rarely got above twenty five degrees. In fact, twenty five was considered sweltering. Arthur blamed this for the fact that the thirty two degree heat that was beating down outside was completely unbearable. Those books had it wrong. Hot summers weren’t fun, they were miserable, and utterly insufferable! How anyone closer to the equator survived this was beyond him. He traipsed over to the sink, splashing his face with a handful of lukewarm water. It trickled down his chin and neck. Feeling no better he collapsed limply on the sofa and groaned.

 

Emrys pushed the front door open with his foot, and nudged his way through, arms full of fresh vegetables. He glanced over at Arthur and snorted. “You look miserable. Cheer up, the sun’s shining, that doesn’t happen a lot here!”

 

Arthur cracked an eye open and sighed dramatically. “Bloody sun… that’s _why_ I’m miserable! It’s too bloody hot!”

 

“Ungrateful…” Emrys muttered teasingly.

 

Arthur sat up, resting his chin on his hands. “I just can’t bear the heat! Even the cold water is too warm!”

 

Emrys rolled his eyes and dumped the vegetables in the sink. He paused briefly before turning to Arthur, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “I have the perfect idea!” Arthur raised a brow. “Let’s go for a hike!”

 

Arthur wilted back into the sofa. A hike in the middle of a blistering midsummer day was _not_ his idea of a perfect anything, except perhaps a perfect disaster.

 

Emrys frowned playfully. “Don’t give me that face, it’ll be worth it, I promise.”

 

So they set off with small backpacks filled with bottled water, a few snacks, a change of clothes, and a first aid kit. Arthur wasn’t sure why they needed all of it, it was just making his back sweat, gluing his shirt to him. They wandered through the hills with no apparent destination. Emrys seemed to know where he was going though, rambling on about the landscape, and the flora and fauna he went. Arthur smiled, he wasn’t all that interested in it all, but Emrys just lit up when he talked about it, so he smiled and nodded, making affirming noises every now and then. The hills were covered in swathes of green and purple heath, and smattered with clumps of sunny goldenrod. Even in the heat of midday, tired, and drenched with sweat, Arthur had to admit that it had a rugged, wild kind of beauty. It seemed like the place suited Emrys well. They seemed to be climbing higher, the rocks getting craggier, and the greenery more sparse, until they reached the crest of a dark hill. Emrys paused before tripping hurriedly down the hill. Arthur attempted the hill slowly, but slid gracelessly after him anyway.

 

“Back when summers used to be hotter this used to be the best way to cool down. Strip off, jump in, better than any man made swimming pool. No nasty chlorine, just cool, clear melt water.” Emrys gestured towards the small lake in front of them. It was half the size of the lake by the house, and surrounded by steep crags on all sides, but its waters were a deep, crystal viridian, shimmering as the early afternoon sun caught the ripples dancing across the surface.

 

“You coming?” He said with a grin, setting his backpack down.

 

Arthur watched as he stripped his shirt off, the lean muscles in his back stretching and rippling as he did. His waist was considerably smaller than his own, and there was none of the broadness in his shoulders, but if Arthur hadn't known any better he would have sworn that the man in front of him was no older than he was. His skin was pale and virtually flawless, with the exception of the odd smattering of moles and a few faint scars. He felt the colour rise on his cheeks, he shouldn't have been looking at him like that, it was inappropriate.

 

Emrys turned around and smiled at him, the corners of his bright eyes creasing just a little. Gone were the crow’s feet and liver spots, his skin was flushed and taut over his high cheekbones. He stripped down to his underwear and Arthur's cheeks grew hotter still. He dove in with a shriek and a laugh. When he surfaced he flicked the water from his hair and wiped the water from his eyes.

 

“Come on in. Honestly, it'll cool you right down. Trust me.”

 

The funny thing was, Arthur did. He had had friends, foster families, school mates, and the voices in his head always drove them away in the end. But this ever-changing man had stayed. There was something so familiar about him, something in his eyes and mannerisms that made Arthur feel safe. He'd never felt safe before. When his hair had been grey and his skin weathered he had felt like a father, then like an older brother, and now … now there was something else. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the man in front of him made him light up on the inside. When he smiled it was like the whole world just got a little brighter.

 

Arthur shook the thoughts from his head and peeled the sweaty t-shirt from his back. Emrys had dived back under the water, and Arthur could see the shadow of his form through the clear water. He swallowed thickly and dove in after him. Emrys was right, the water was cold and certainly helped to quell his earlier feelings. As his head broke the surface of the water he felt a laugh bubble up from inside him. He shivered a little and swam out deeper into the lake. Emrys was floating in his back in the middle of the lake, his eyes closed, soaking in the sun.

 

“Just listen to that.” He murmured.

 

Arthur stopped, treading water silently. He felt the breeze against his skin, and heard the gentle lap of water against the shore, and their bodies.

 

“I don’t hear anything.”

 

Emrys cracked open an eye and grinned. “Exactly.”

 

Arthur smiled back, and looked up at the sky above them. Floating on the water and just looking up at the pristine blue above him felt like flying. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The cool of the water beneath him, and the warmth of the sun above, he could have stayed there forever. Could have, at least until Emrys dived under again, splashing him with cold water.

 

“Jesus, fuck! I was just warming up!” Arthur exclaimed as Emrys surfaced again.

 

“I thought you wanted to cool down?” He replied wryly.

 

Arthur narrowed his gaze and splashed a handful of water back at Emrys.

 

Emrys raised a brow, his mouth quirking into a barely concealable smile. “Do you really want to start this?”

 

Arthur laughed. “Fine. Race you to the shore?”

 

Emrys said nothing, only grinning and setting off with big, deliberate splashes.

 

“Hey, hey!” Arthur called, floundering as he tried to catch him up.

 

They swam full kilter until they were almost neck and neck, as the water got shallower they began to wade instead, shouting and laughing as the water splashed up over their shins. Emrys was beginning to edge ahead when Arthur leapt on him.

 

“No you don’t! You had a head start, I think you should accept a handicap.”

 

He dunked Emrys under the water and began to wade faster towards the shore. Emrys surfaced with a splutter and chased after him, catching him around the waist and pulling him down.

 

“Old men deserve a head start!” He laughed.

 

Arthur shoved him off and made a break for it. He felt a cold hand around his ankle and he was in the water again. Emrys laughed and splashed past him again. There was no way he was going to lose to Emrys, that was just _not_ going to happen. Arthur pulled him down again, pinning his arms to the lake floor, and straddling him.

 

“Not this time, _old man!_ ” He laughed triumphantly. But when he looked down, Emrys wasn’t laughing. In fact, his eyes were wide, like a deer caught in headlights. Those eyes, such a tempestuous blue, as rich and dark as the lake surrounding them. Their faces were close, close enough that Arthur could feel Emrys’ shallow breath on his wet skin. He suppressed a shiver as his skin puckered with goose pimples. Emrys’ eyes had him transfixed. There was something about them, something that wasn’t quite right. He had seen them before, not as old, and not as tired, but he _knew_ them. Not just their colour, but their shape, the emotions flickering in their gaze. They say that the eyes are a window to the soul, and Arthur knew this soul.

 

“Arthur.” Emrys said in a hushed tone, a hint of trepidation in his voice.

 

His reply was hoarse “Emrys.”

 

For a moment they simply stared at one another. Until Emrys moved underneath him, sitting up, Arthur’s hands still lingering on his wrists. He broke free, gently. “I … umm … we should be getting back, before it starts to get dark. It’s beginning to get a little cold, and I have some errands I need to run.”

 

With that crawled onto the shore, pulling his t-shirt over his head and scrabbling to put his shorts back on. The sun had barely begun its descent towards the horizon, but Arthur felt a chill run through him, like he’d jumped straight back into the water. What had he done?

 

The entire way home Emrys walked, mutely, a few paces ahead. Not looking back for more than a moment to check that Arthur was still behind him.

 

The silence in the house when they returned was unbearable. Arthur wanted to say something, anything to find out what he had done to deserve this treatment. He had felt something between them, he was certain that he had seen something in Emrys too. But the man refused to even look at him. Emrys got changed into drier clothes and left through the front door again without so much as a word to Arthur. He watched him go, that familiar route into the hills. He never said where he was going, or why. He saw something burning in his eyes that mirrored his own desires, he knew it. Why was it that he would demand answers from him, but give none of his own? Anger bubbled up inside of him. Where did he go? Why did he keep so many things from him? He didn’t know what this feeling was, nesting inside his chest, but it fluttered so frantically whenever Emrys was near. For his own self-preservation he needed to know what he was getting himself into.

 

*

 

The hills were ablaze with the late afternoon sunlight, painting the grass scorched amber, and the sky a brilliant amaranth. He knew that it was wrong to invade Emrys' privacy the way he was, and he knew that if Emrys had wanted him to know where he was going then he would have told him. But the lure of this man was becoming too much. This man who had been old and now was young. This man who spoke to him as though he'd known him his whole life. This man who felt so familiar ... why was he so familiar? He _had_ to know. As the sun was slowly setting the hills seemed to grow larger, looming darker today than they had done before. He couldn't have gone much farther, there was nothing in the hills, and it was miles to the next town or village. The grass was scrubbier and sparser the further he went, until there was nothing left but mossy rocks and piles of rubble, and nestled among them was an unnaturally large stone. It seemed to be about twenty foot long, and at least twelve foot high. It was oddly shaped, lumpy and round in places, and sharp in others. It didn't seem nearly as weathered as the stones around it, and there was something drawing him to it. A warmth, a feeling of safety. That was when he saw him. Emrys, stood at the base of the rock, a look of fond nostalgia softening his features. He had a hand pressed against its side, and he seemed to be talking to it softly. What was this place?

 

“Whoa.” He breathed.

 

Emrys stilled.

 

*

 

“He's in love with me, or thinks he is. I mean, it's not me he's in love with, it's the idea of me, of who I used to be, but it's enough. I … he never thought of me that way before, at least, I didn't think he did.” He ran a hand through his dark, untamed hair, before placing it on the dragon's flank. He could feel the soothing hum under his fingertips and he sighed. “Gods, what am I doing? What am I thinking! He's barely an adult, I'm his guardian, and so much older than him.” He reached up and touched the dark hair on his face. “Although maybe I don't look it any more. I just don't know. What's happening to me Kilgharrah? I love Arthur, I have always known that. I love him as a friend, a brother, and a king, but now … maybe it's all of those things in one now.”

 

In the end they had been closer than friends, more affectionate than brothers, less reverent than a king and his subject, but just as adoring in their own way. Gwen had been a servant, then a friend, then more. If it had been a different time, a different age, could _they_ have become more? Was it just gender that separated Arthur's feelings for Merlin from his feelings for Gwen? Were they even separate at all anymore?

 

“Whoa.”

 

Merlin spun around, the warm look slipping from his face. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I wanted to see where you go. I needed to know.”

 

“What makes you think you have the right to … this is a private place!”

 

“I'm not sorry, Emrys. You come out here practically every day, and you didn't want secrets in our house. No secrets, you said, except this. I wanted to know why this was an exception.”

 

“Is an old man not allowed his secrets?” Merlin growled.

 

Arthur looked like he had been slapped. “Sorry to break it to you but you don't look that old any more. In fact you barely look over twenty. At first you told me that you were exactly as you looked, but you've looked different every day I've known you. So what does that say about you?” His eyes narrowed bitterly. “You were right you know, I don't like secrets. They fester, they poison relationships. The bigger the secret the more dangerous it becomes.”

 

Merlin's brow furrowed. “Sounds like you speak from experience.”

 

Arthur said nothing, walking tentatively towards the stone. He reached out a hand and placed his palm again one of the smooth facets of rock. His stormy façade cracked suddenly, falling away to reveal a look of utter awe. He huffed out an astonished laugh. “The stone, it's vibrating!”

 

Merlin felt a sick feeling settle in his stomach.

 

Arthur's face lit up as he pressed himself closer to the stone. “I can feel it. It's humming, no, not humming, whispering!”

 

“Arthur...” Merlin said tentatively, taking a step towards him.

 

“The stone knows me. It's whispering my name,” He spun around to see Merlin's apprehensive expression. “And it's not all in my head.” Arthur added sharply.

 

“I never said it was, Arthur.”

 

They were both quiet for a moment, Merlin watching Arthur attentively as he marvelled at the dragonstone. Then Arthur spoke, his voice low and cautious. “Emrys, what is this place?”

 

Several heartbeats passed, what felt like an eternity between each, before Merlin replied. “It's a grave.”

 

Arthur frowned. “A grave? Whose?”

 

“An old friend.” Merlin said.

 

“You've said that before, but I don't understand. Is this entire rock the grave? Why were they buried up here?”

 

“He was never buried here, this was just where he came to rest.” Merlin sighed and rested a hand on the dragon's neck. “Humans so often forget that they are creatures, no more significant than cattle in the grand scheme of things. Break us down to our finest components and you'll find that our bones are tree branches, and our veins are filled with salt water. When we die we become what we once were, we give back all that we took from life, for what exists cannot be destroyed, only moulded into something new. But not all creatures are born of earth and water as we are, some are born of fire and stone. So that's where they return.”

 

Arthur's frown deepened. “Fire and stone? What could possibly be made of fire and stone?”

 

“I think you already know the answer to that.” Merlin replied softly.

 

Arthur traced the faint grooves in the stone. They were sharp and regular, almost like scales. He continued to run his hand along the length of the rock. The entire thing was covered in scales. Scales, fire, stone … “Dragons.” he breathed.

 

The stone hummed in agreement.

 

Arthur snatched his hand away. “That's impossible! Dragons don't exist!”

 

“You're right.” Merlin replied softly. “This old man was the last of his kind.” He ran his hand along the dragon’s neck, smiling affectionately.

 

 When he looked back Arthur had taken a few steps back, his expression wary. “Who _are_ you?”

 

“Who I've always been.” He replied softly, taking a tentative step towards Arthur. “Your guardian, and your friend.”

 

Arthur’s eyes widened in sudden realisation. “You know … you’ve always known.” He started to back away. “I can't … I can't take this in. I … I have to ...”

 

With that he bolted, tripping and stumbling as fast as he could.


	11. Chapter 11

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Merlin had run after him, his feet pounding on the rocks and stones, and over the flowers and plants with no remorse. He had checked the house, the gardens, the apiary, the orchard, all to no avail. All of Arthur’s belongings were still in his drawers, untouched, but he was nowhere to be seen. It was beginning to get dark, the only light that still lingered painting the sky a smoky mauve. The slow burn of panic was rising up into his gullet and constricting his chest. If it got dark there was no guarantee that Arthur would be able to find his way home. He swallowed the thick lump of anxiety lodged in his throat and made his way back up to the dragonstone, back to where he last saw Arthur. Maybe he’d made his way back there. He could feel the stones crunch under his feet, but he could barely see the path in the failing light.

 

“ _Leoht._ ” He whispered hoarsely.

 

A ball as pale as starlight appeared in front of Merlin. It floated on a few inches from his face at first, but then floated forwards, guiding him as the hills around him were blanketed in darkness.

 

Soon enough the Merlin and his orb arrived at the great stone dragon. The light cast eerie shadows on the rocks, painting them white like jagged bones. There was no one around. Not a single creature, human, rodent, or bird was to be seen. There was a strange tremulous silence in the air. It was stifling.

 

Merlin stood still for a moment, unable to move. He felt anger, resentment, and guilt envelope him. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he just wanted to scream.

 

“ _O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!_ ” He hollered. His voice echoed around the hills, but all that followed was the quiet thrum of the earth, and the sound of the wind.

 

He screamed aloud and tried again. “ _O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!_ ”

 

Still silence.

 

“ _O drakon, e male … e male ..._ ” Merlin choked back a sob, his voice growing hoarse. He turned to the stone, eyes burning. “Don't you leave me alone in this Kilgharrah! This is your fault! You should never have spoken to him. You have not spoken to me for centuries, and yet you will whisper in Arthur's ear the first time he comes here? How dare you!”

 

He paused for a moment, letting the cold night air wash over him, quelling the fire burning in his eyes and his heart. The wind was whispering something different today. He inhaled deeply. It tasted of ash and fear, a metallic tang at the back of his throat. He had failed again. He had been given a second chance and he had ruined everything.

 

This time he let the tears flow, fast, hot and free, spilling down his face as he collapsed to the floor.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Merlin said brokenly, reaching out towards the stone. “This was never your fault. This was me. It was always me.”

 

The stone hummed, but said nothing.

 

The laugh that broke free from his lips was galling, caustic in his mouth. “Why, after everything, is that so comforting?”

                                                           

*

 

Arthur felt sick. His head was spinning, a thousand questions racing through his thoughts. He braced himself against a nearby tree. He had wandered aimlessly though the hills, not caring whether he would live or die in the vast wilderness of the Welsh countryside. Tripping and stumbling through streams and traipsing through long grass had left his trousers and shoes sodden and clinging. He repressed a shiver. The light was all but gone, and he could barely see the route down to the house any more. He only hoped he could make it back there before he got himself completely lost.

 

All this time.

 

All those years, the drugs, the homes, every doctor that had ever called him ill … it was all for nothing. He wasn’t crazy. He’d never been crazy. Arthur laughed bitterly. For almost eighteen years the voices and the memories had been real. He had been beaten, spat on, ostracised, and all along it was _them_ who had been wrong.

 

If dragons were real, or at least had been, then all of those people, his best friends, his family, the boy … his name was on the tip of his tongue, always at the front of his mind. It was locked up in the boreal blue of his eyes. Whoever he had been before hadn’t appreciated those eyes enough, let alone the person they belonged to. He had thought that maybe whatever this was stirring in his chest, this painfully bright feeling that Emrys had kindled, would have finally replaced the boy in his heart. If anything it had made his affection more fervent. That mop of dark hair, that shyly wry smile, his ridiculous laugh … all he wanted in the world was to hold him in his arms. For a moment by the lake he thought he had felt the same for Emrys. He had looked into his eyes and felt something. It was so similar, as though he had finally found the person his heart had been yearning for. Then the dragon had spoken to him, and his world had crashed around him.

 

Emrys had lied. He’d been lying to him all along. How could he trust a man who kept so many secrets?

 

Arthur took a deep breath and started off on shaky legs to where he could still see the vague outline of the house. He tried not to think about the times they spent picking fruit, harvesting honey, just lazing around in the sun. He tried to shake the memories of snowball fights, homemade stew, and late night hot chocolates from his mind. This was home. Emrys was home. Now home wasn’t a safe place anymore and it felt like his life had jolted out of place. As he made his way through the knee-high grass light flooded through the windows of the house below, painting the gardens a warm gold. He froze. Emrys had gone back to the house. He was in the house right now. He couldn’t go back while he was there. He couldn’t face him.

 

Kneeling down, Arthur watched as more lights burst into life inside the house. Emrys was probably checking all the rooms for him. A thread of guilt tugged at him. Emrys would be worrying, he was probably fraught, tearing through the house.

 

As if to answer his question a figure walked out through the front door, and stormed back into the encroaching darkness, closing the door behind him, but leaving all the lights on.

 

When Arthur was certain that Emrys was well out of sight, he cautiously made his way down to the house He’d been right, all of the doors were thrown open, and all of the lights were on. His own drawers were open, as was the wardrobe. Arthur dragged the suitcase and rucksacks put from under his bag and began chucking his belongings unceremoniously into them. If he didn’t leave now then it would give Emrys time to change his mind. He couldn’t allow that, because he knew just a word from the man would stop him in his tracks. He might not be able to trust the man, but he still made his heart skip a beat. Damn him. Damn the way he made him feel. Damn him for lying to him. Everything could have been so wonderful, and he fucked it up. Arthur had to get out, he refused to stay after such a betrayal, even if it meant breaking his own heart in the process.

 

He collected his books and other paraphernalia from the kitchen and the living room, and shoved them in his bags as best he could. He put one rucksack on each shoulder, took his other bags in hand and made his way to the front door. It was late, but he’d walk all the way back to the home if he had to.

 

As he hoisted the bags further up his shoulders, the second rucksack caught on the coatrack, knocking a few of the coats into a heap on the floor. Cursing under his breath he dropped his bags, hurriedly picked up the fallen coats and threw them in a bundle out of the way of the front door. Something landed with a metallic clunk. Arthur paused and looked down. Something had fallen out of one of the coats and was lying conspicuously in the middle of the floor. He bent down to pick it up.

 

*

 

Merlin sat in the dark for a long while. Every time he tried to get up he was struck by a wave of overwhelming despair. Everything was so wrong, and he had no one to blame but himself. He should have said something, told him somehow. He had no idea how he could have done it, but he was sure there must have been a thousand opportunities that he had just overlooked. Merlin had always had too much heart, that was the problem, and that heart had belonged to Arthur from the moment they met. He had hated the stuck up, pig-headed young prince, but their destinies had been tied since the dawn of time, and Merlin had taken it in his stride, albeit reluctantly at first. He always tried to think of what was best for Arthur, but he got it wrong so many times. With Mordred, with Morgana, with Uther, and now, finally, with Arthur. Even after all this time, he had found one more way to ruin Arthur’s life.

 

He let out a broken sob and smeared the tears from his face with the heel of his hand.

 

_It is time, young warlock._

Merlin felt the voice reverberate in his mind. His breath caught in his throat.

 

“Kilgharrah?”

 

_Yes, young one._

Merlin felt a laugh bubble up inside him. It had been so long since he had heard his friend’s voice. “I am not so young any more, old friend.”

 

_Perhaps. But you shall always be younger than me._

He laughed, pressing his forehead against the cold stone. “It is so good to hear your voice again.”

 

The stone hummed in agreement.

“Why now?”

 

_Because it is time._

Merlin frowned. “Time for what?”

 

_Your destiny._

“I’ve already made such a mess of things. How am I supposed to protect him when I keep failing at every turn?”

 

_Go._

“Go? Go where?”

 

_Go home. The Once and Future King awaits. It is time._

“Time for what?”

 

The stone hummed, but said nothing.

 

“Kilgharrah!” Merlin cried out into the darkness. “Time for what?”

 

He got no reply, save the haunting howl of the wind as it began to pick up, racing through the high hills, and whistling through the trees.

 

Home. Where was home? The cottage? Old Camelot? Old Ealdor? Home was wherever his heart lay. First it had been with his mother, then with Gaius, then with the band of knights and servants that became his family, but for millennia it had been with one person. With Arthur.

 

Home was with Arthur. Home was late night talks. Home was teaching him how to cook, and how to collect honey. Home was watching nature documentaries together, both of them pretending not to be a little upset when the lions finally caught up to the gazelles. Home was the feeling that being with Arthur kindled, that warm spark of something that had been entwining itself around his heart since the day he first arrived. And if that was home for Merlin, it would be home for Arthur as well. He knew where he had to go, even if it took him all night, he’d wait for Arthur to come home to him.

 

He felt apprehensively rejuvenated as he picked himself off the ground. “Thank you, Kilgharrah. I hope we get to speak again someday. I miss your company.”

 

With that he made his way back to the house, his ball of stars lighting his way.

 

As he approached the house Merlin noticed an extra sliver of light streaming out into the night. He extinguished his orb and walked cautiously towards it. The door was open. Merlin was sure that he had closed it when he left. Barely daring to hope he pushed the door open quietly. Arthur was sat on the sofa, breathing in short, shallow breaths. In his eyes were a thousand questions. In his hands shone a circle of metal.


	12. Chapter 12

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_The fire was crackling, warm and bright, sparks popping from the wood and floating through the dark night sky like fireflies on a summer evening. The golden glow of the flames washed over the faces of the two young men sat by the fireside, and set the rocks around them ablaze. The night was cold, crisp, and clear, but the mood was heavy, laden with the apprehension of what lay ahead. The light-hearted conversation they had grown used to over the years had all but died, leaving the two feeling solemn._

_One man, his hair dark, and his eyes the colour of the pre-dawn sky, looked meaningfully into the fire. “We’ll defeat the Dorocha, we will.” He paused. “Together.”_

_Glancing up he saw the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his friend’s face. It was a fond smile, one that was familiar, if rarely indulged._

_“I appreciate that.” He replied, quelling the smile. They nodded at one another, a friendly affirmation, nothing more._

_Breaking the glance the second man, broad and wellborn, his breeding clear with every motion made, reached across into a bag to his left and removed a small leather pouch. Untying the strings he emptied its contents into his hand. He turned it over once, running a thumb over the metal affectionately._

_“This belonged to my mother.” He said quietly._

_The man to his right regarded him with trepidation._

_“It bears her sigil.” He turned it over in his hand again, the firelight catching the arches of the dove’s wings emblazoned in the centre. “Here.”_

_The sigil was passed from one man to the other with careful reverie. “Arthur I can’t-”_

_“Just … take it.”_

 

*

  
“What is this?” Arthur said, rubbing his thumb over the metal ring. It was heavy in his hands, and warms from sitting there for so long. It had dulled with age, the design worn from fingers tracing its outline, much like Arthur was doing at that moment. Still, the bird in flight was clearly visible, laid over a heavy cross, both encircled in a scallop edged ring.

 

It was an arbitrary question. He knew exactly what it was. He had seen it a thousand different times over the years, at night, and in his daydreams. What he didn’t understand was why it was here. Why now.

 

Emrys stilled, his eyes fixed on his hands, and what they were holding. “Arthur…” He began.

 

“This… this is the sigil from my dreams, or my memories, whatever they are. My mother’s sigil. Not my mother from here, my other mother, my first mother. How could you have this? How can this even exist?”

 

“Please Arth-”

 

Arthur clutched the sigil tightly, his knuckles growing pale with the effort. He scrunched his eyes shut, the pain of the day’s revelations thudding behind his eyes. “They said I was delusional. They said it wasn’t real! First the dragon, now this … am I hallucinating?”

 

Arthur looked up, eyes wild and desperate, at the man standing over him. The colour had all but drained from Emrys’ face. “No, Arthur, you’re not. If you just let me expla-”

 

“If I’m not hallucinating, if this is real, then I gave this to my friend. This was a gift. A show of trust. How is this here?”

 

The space between them had stilled like the air before a storm, and for a moment all that Arthur could see were the glaucous shades of his guardian’s eyes. He had looked into those eyes a thousand times in a different life. The realisation shook him to the core.

 

*

 

“Merlin.”

 

The name tumbled from Arthur’s lips unbidden, its leaden sound shattering the silence.

 

If he hadn’t known any better, Merlin would have sworn that in that moment his heart had ceased beating entirely. This wasn’t a fever-dream, the light of recognition was burning in Arthur’s eyes. He knew. He really _knew_.

 

Arthur stood shakily, placing the sigil on the sofa beside him, and taking a step closer to Merlin. His eyes scoured the man’s face, searching for the answer he’d found in his eyes. “Merlin? It is isn't it? It's you. It's really you.”

 

“Arthur, I-”

 

Arthur closed the distance between them and pressed his lips against Merlin's, cupping his face in his hands. It wasn't chaste, but neither was it desperate or fervent. That simple gesture was filled with warmth and longing, gentle but not hesitant. It was as though they had kissed a thousand times before, and would a thousand times more. Merlin had thought kissing Arthur would give him shivers, that there'd be fireworks, or a spark of something. There was nothing like that. In fact, all he felt was a warmth that spread through him. The electricity that had been in the air disappeared, there was a calm stillness inside and out. Kissing Arthur felt like home.

 

Arthur pulled away, one hand dropping to his side, the other remaining on Merlin's face, his thumb tracing his cheekbones and the very edges of his lips, as though at any moment he might disappear.

 

When he finally spoke his voice was husky, cracking just a little as he did. “I've waited my entire life to do that.”

 

“Arthur-” Merlin started, but Arthur hushed him.

 

“No, not now. Please. Whatever you have to say, to explain, whatever it is can wait. I have loved you for as long as I knew what love was. I thought I'd moved on, but even then, it was always you. Let me have this, even if it's just for tonight. Let me be with you.”

 

With that he kissed him again and this time Merlin didn't hold back.

 

They filled the night with lazy kisses, sprawled out on the bed, drifting off in each other's arms. They would wake up every now and then just to hold each other closer, murmuring hazy words of love and fondness into the darkness.

 

“I … I owe you an explanation.” Merlin said quietly as the first rays of watery summer light began to filter in through the gaps in the curtains.

 

Arthur pulled Merlin tighter against him. “You do, but it can wait.”

 

Merlin rolled over to face him. “It can’t. This has been festering inside of me since the moment we met. I kept so much from you before, and look where that got us. You deserve to know everything.”

 

There was no reply, only a shaky sigh and a gentle nod of ascension. So Merlin began, from the day Arthur had died. He spoke of what had become of the kingdom, of his travels with Kilgharrah, of his peaceful life in isolation, and of his reintroduction to the modern world. Then he spoke of the café, of the heart stopping moment he finally saw him again. Merlin’s voice was thick with grief, and pain as he told him of the choices he had to make, the corners he cut to make sure Arthur was safe under his roof.

 

Arthur ran a thumb over his cheek. “You waited all this time. For me?”

 

Merlin leaned into his touch, kissing his palm gently. “And I would’ve waited a thousand years more if I’d had to.”

 

“What did I do to deserve that kind of loyalty?”

 

The sleepy contentment had all but gone from Arthur’s expression, replaced with a look of sincere gratitude, and not a small measure of awe.

 

Merlin’s eyes moved to the ceiling, unable to meet the intensity of Arthur’s gaze. “You were my friend. My family. My King.”

 

“Nothing more?”

 

“I…” Merlin paused. The question took him by surprise. Was there ever anything more? “I … I think I’ve always loved you. Even back then, after everything we went through. I know that you loved Gwen, your love has become something of legend, but now that we’re here like this, I can’t ever imagine us being any different.”

 

Arthur hummed in agreement. “That life all seems like a strangely vivid dream, but now that I’ve acknowledged it, it’s like floodgates opening. I remember everything, albeit hazily. I think … I think I loved you more than I ever loved Gwen, but maybe not in this way. You were my soulmate, we were two sides of the same coin, balancing each other out. I wouldn’t have been me without you.”

 

“Two sides of the same coin…” Merlin mused. Yes, they’d been called that before. “We _were_ like that, weren’t we? The number of times we almost died for each other …”

 

Arthur pressed a few listless kisses to Merlin’s shoulder. “Closer than friends, but never lovers. I wonder, if it had been like it is today back then, would it have been you by my side instead of Gwen all along?”

 

Merlin shook his head. “That’s not something that’s worth thinking about Arthur. You were my closest friend, my King, and the best man I have ever known, but the past is in the past, you are here now, and after all this time we are finally together. I wouldn’t have minded being your elderly guardian for the rest of my life, but I have to say, this is a definite improvement.”

 

Arthur chuckled and pressed his nose into the crook of Merlin’s neck. “I agree.”

 

“How can you ever forgive me for lying to you all this time?” Merlin said, pulling away a little. Arthur’s brow was creased with cautious regard.

 

“Forgive you? For what? All this time you were thinking of me. You wanted me to be safe and happy. I did feel betrayed, back up in the hills, but I understand why you did what you did.”

 

Merlin smiled sadly. “I remember a time when you would have sworn never to speak to me again.”

 

“I am not that man.” Arthur said, propping himself up on his elbow. He sighed. “Merlin, I’m not the same man you waited for all these years. I’m sorry, but I’m not. I grew up in the modern world. I was never rich, or pampered, or spoilt. My realities are microwave meals and medication, not banquets and magic, which is something I guess I’ll have to get used to with you … I have his memories, the same likes and dislikes, but I am not him.”

 

“I know. I … I’ve made my peace with that. I … I think I’ve grown to love you. This you. I loved the man you used to be, but I love who you are now just as much. Maybe more.”

 

A gentle, fond smile graced Arthur’s face, his eyes bright with affections unspoken. They didn’t need to be said, Merlin knew them through and through, as they were mirrored in his own.

 

“I prefer you without the beard you know.” Arthur said, running a hand down his unkempt face.

 

Merlin smiled wryly. “Oh?”

 

“Yeah, you look like you're trying too hard.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Definitely. You look ridiculous.”

 

Merlin laughed, nuzzling his beardy face closer to Arthur. He laughed back, pushing Merlin away playfully.

 

Arthur kissed him softly, concern creasing his brow. “What are you going to tell people?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You look so young now, I’m surprised you managed to keep up the act this long. You’re not Emrys Jones, doddery old man, content to be left alone. People started noticing months ago, there’s no doubting it now. You are not who you used to be any more.”

 

Merlin touched a hand to his face absent-mindedly. “Other people don’t matter. I survived up here for long enough on my own.”

 

“You’re not on your own any more,” He replied. “And I don’t think you ever really were.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You touched many people’s lives, Merlin. More than you know.”  “What about Anna?”

 

Merlin paused. He hadn’t thought about Anna. He’d only been thinking of himself. It stung that he’d been so selfish. He still wasn’t used to mattering to anyone but the fates. “Anna … I could tell her I’m Emrys’ grandson? No … she deserves to hear the truth, doesn’t she?”

 

Arthur stretched out and yawned. “Yes, she does, but how are you going to explain it to her?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

The morning light was cold and grey, twilight that had been stretching out for longer than Merlin had thought it could. He was glad of the shadows, they hid the shame in his expression. He’d been waiting so long for this, to be with Arthur again, that he hadn’t thought about the consequences of it all. Telling people the truth about him, having his true face again, the coming storm that had dragged Arthur back from the dead. He’d become complacent, allowed himself to get comfortable, even though he knew all along that this was coming. He had neglected the warnings.

 

“There’s something else bothering you, isn’t there?” Arthur said, draping an arm over Merlin’s waist.

 

Merlin took Arthur’s hand in his own, linking their fingers together. The warmth of Arthur’s body was so comforting against his back. “I didn’t want to bring it up so soon.”

 

“Bring what up?”

 

He thought about what the Sylph had said, about the prophesy, and the Great Darkness. He didn’t know what was coming, he had no way to prepare for it. It was terrifying to have got something back that had been lost for so long, only to be faced with the possibility of losing it all over again.

 

“Kilgharrah told me that you were the Once and Future King, that you would return when Albion needed you the most.” He paused and took a shaky breath. “I've seen so many terrible things, wars, plagues, genocide, things that even your worst nightmares couldn't concoct, but you never came back for any of it. If those things weren't bad enough, what's coming?”

 

Arthur hummed sleepily by his side.  
  
Merlin pressed a kiss into his blonde hair, breathing the scent of him in deeply, and pulling him close. Maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe none of it mattered any more. They’d been through death and back. So long as they were together, they could get through just about anything.

 

\-- .- -..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks! 
> 
> Gosh, I can't thank you enough for all the comments, kudos, and general support you guys have given me! I have been totally overwhelmed by it all, and you've made this such a joy to write.
> 
> Super mega thank you to Mary, who has read through every chapter, and has been there for me, supporting me through all of my wobbles. You've been an absolute star, and I couldn't have done it without you.
> 
> This isn't the end of the story though, I have hidden clues throughout this fic as to what's happening next, and anyone who can guess gets an imaginary internet cookie, and my utmost respect!
> 
> I can't wait to see you all again in the new year for the sequel: _When The Wind Blows_


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